


The Legacy Anthology

by sailorgreywolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anthology, Multi, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 85,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf
Summary: This is a series of stories that is meant to be read in conjunction with Legacy, which is my story about Mexico's life. These were originally written for prompts or short oneshots on my Tumblr.They cover a variety of characters and time periods outside of the story of Legacy, but in the same universe as it were. In effect, these stories allowed me to write about more than just the Mexican War for Independence while using the same OCs and the same relationships.Treat these an expansion for Legacy. It is divided by character, and each story is labeled with the period in which they take place. The characters are in alphabetical order, the stories are roughly chronological.
Relationships: America/Mexico (Hetalia), Argentina/Chile (Hetalia), Argentina/Mexico (Hetalia), Brazil/Mexico (Hetalia), Colombia & Peru (Hetalia), Cuba/Mexico (Hetalia), France/Mexico (Hetalia), Mexico/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. America

**Mid 19th Century**  
  
America was standing in the corner of the room trying to pretend that he was enjoying himself. But the truth was that he had not been a country for very long, and he certainly did not know how to act at these European gatherings.  
  
It was so strange to stand among them all carousing and feel like he was on the outside. He had never been a part of this kind of politics before his independence, and the transition was difficult.   
  
He found himself standing shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He did not realize that Mexico was right next to him until the man tapped him on the arm and said, “You look like lost.”   
  
America turned to him and smiled. He was so handsome, and his teasing tone was charming. He replied, “I don’t really like these kinds of things.”   
  
He did not want to say that he was uncomfortable with diplomacy, but he had never learned to enjoy this kind of veiled socialization. They were all gauging each other’s strength but pretending that it was only social. America had no idea how any of them did it.   
  
Mexico smirked at him, and then hooked his arm under America’s. He said, “Come with me. I will show you how to deal with these vultures.”   
  
America was not certain if he actually wanted to follow Mexico into the lion’s den, but he also did not want to show his own insecurity. He nodded, and decided not to voice it.   
  
Mexico smiled and led him further into the crowd. There was something incredibly charming about the way that Mexico put on a smile and carried himself so proudly. It seemed effortless, and America found himself wondering how he did it.  
  
He said, quietly enough that only Mexico would hear him, “What are we doing?” Mexico replied in a conspiratorial whisper, “The best way to show them that you do not fear them is to start the conversation.”   
  
He patted America’s arm and added, “Don’t worry. I will start you with someone easy.”  
  
America realized that Mexico was looking at somebody, but he couldn’t see who. He had half a mind to insist that they go back to where he had been standing, but Mexico was already leading him.   
  
Mexico stopped in front of Portugal. America let out a breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. This was at least a familiar face. He remembered seeing Portugal more than once when he had still been a colony, though there had been little contact since his independence.   
  
Portugal smiled at Mexico and said, “Ale, it’s good to see you out on your own. How are you finding independence?”  
  
He looked genuinely excited to see Mexico, and America decided not to question it. Mexico smiled graciously, and said, “I’m not completely alone. Do you know Alfred?”   
  
America saw Portugal’s eyes turn to him, like Portugal had just noticed his presence. Portugal said, with a cordial smile, “I believe that we have met before.”   
  
America felt like this was his chance to say something. He said, “You’re close to Arthur, aren’t you?” He was sure that was why he knew Portugal. Mexico said, “You could say that.” Portugal gave him a look like a disapproving father.   
  
America was trying to focus, but he felt eyes on the back of his head. He turned his head to look, and caught the blistering gaze of Spain. It looked like he wanted to tear America away from Mexico.   
  
America said, quietly, “Spain is staring at us.”   
  
Mexico said, without even turning to look, “Ignore him.”   
  
America could not possibly listen to that. He wanted to protect himself and Mexico. He said back, “I don’t like how he’s looking at you.”   
  
Before Mexico could respond, Portugal said, “He will not try anything here. I promise you that.”  
  
————————————  
 **After the Second Empire  
**  
Mexico was standing in front of the national palace, feeling incredibly antsy. It was the first time that America was visiting him here since the restoration of the republic instead of summoning him to his home.   
  
Mexico wasn’t certain how he felt about the idea of having America here. They hadn’t spent time together in his capital since America had been occupying it, and the memories were not pleasant.   
  
It did not improve his mood to know that now he was obliged to to be welcoming. Had he been left to his own devices, he would have told America exactly what he thought of him. But, he did not have the choice.   
  
As he let out a deep breath, he closed his eyes and hoped to find some patience on the inside of his closed eyelids. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, and then opened them again.  
To his surprise, America had appeared on the other side of the courtyard. It hadn’t seemed like he had been looking away that long. But, this also meant that he no longer had time to gather himself.  
  
He put a smile on his face as America strode towards him, and he hoped it looked convincing. America at least looked excited to see him. Mexico smiled and said, “Welcome to my home, Alfie.”  
  
America put one hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He said, speaking in Mexico’s ear, “I’m sure you will be a good host.”  
  
He trailed his hand down Mexico’s arm, in a gesture that seemed like it was meant to be flirtatious. Mexico took another deep breath and said, trying to sound sweet, “I am here for whatever you want.”   
  
America said, keeping his hand on Mexico’s arm, “Could we go for a walk? I want to talk to you.”  
  
It was an unusual request for America, but he was not going to say no to something so innocuous. He slipped his arm under America’s and said, “We can go to the gardens and we can be alone.”   
  
America nodded in response and started walking like he had some idea of the direction without being told. Mexico gave him a gentle tug in the correct direction. He knew there was a chance that America might double down on his bad decision and keep going in that direction.   
  
But, he turned the correct direction and tried to look like he had intended this the whole time.   
  
Once they were out of earshot of everyone else, Mexico said, “What did you want to talk about?”   
  
The smile that immediately appeared on America’s face made his stomach churn. It didn’t get any better when America said, “Now that we are together again like we should be, I want to find a really private place. I wasn’t going to ask you to take me to bed when there are other people present.”  
  
Mexico was genuinely shocked bu the request. He was not used to anyone being so forward, and America did not use to be nearly this bold. He said, trying to be clever, “Well, we could at least eat dinner first.”  
  
It seemed like a good enough way to divert this conversation. But, America said very sharply, “Why? Because you aren’t that kind of man?”   
  
Mexico felt himself raise both eyebrows, and he could not hold his tongue. He responded, “What is that supposed to mean?”   
  
America’s hold on his arm tightened uncomfortably, and Mexico was sure he would never be able to pull away. The blonde started talking, and there was a worrying angry flush in his cheeks, “Do you know why I wanted to meet you here?”  
  
Mexico was certain there was somewhere that this question was leading, but he couldn’t guess. He answered, “Because this is the seat of my government?”   
  
America shook his head, and Mexico could see the red in his cheeks creeping towards his hairline. He said, “I heard that your castle is prettier, but I could not stand to be there because I know you lived with him there.”  
  
For a moment, Mexico thought that he was referring to Maximilian. But, he reminded himself that America had no way of knowing about his emperor or Mexico’s feelings for him. This was about France. Each of their conversations seemed to circle back to the man. It was so tiring.   
  
America continued, “I don’t think I could look at a single room without thinking about him fucking you there while I was busy fighting a war. I don’t think I could eat a single meal at that table, because the thought of you with him makes me sick.”   
  
Mexico wanted so badly to snap back and defend himself. But, he was supposed to be reconciling with America, and sharp words would not help. He put on a smile that made his face hurt, and said, “I’m glad you are here then.”   
  
——————————  
 **After the Second Empire**  
  
Mexico would rather be anywhere than in America’s living room waiting for him. He felt like he was being kept waiting just so America could see him whenever he pleased. It made him feel like he was at America’s beck and call.   
  
But, this was the agreement he had made so that America would lend his support to Juarez and the new republic. America had been very clear that he wanted their romantic relationship back, and he wanted it to do it his way.   
  
Mexico was in no position to say that he did not want this. He knew the politics of his position, and he could do nothing but he obliging. Juarez had been clear that it was his duty to secure America’s support.   
  
He took a deep breath, and tried to tell himself that America was not intentionally keeping him waiting. The man had never been on time to anything.  
  
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, America came into the room, slightly out of breath. He said, with a smile that was incredibly charming, “I’m so glad that you are here!”   
Something about his genuine, boyish smile made Mexico smile in spite of himself. He had forgotten how cute it was possible for America to be.  
  
He stood up and said, “I promised that I would be. It is what you asked for.”   
  
America stepped around one of the chairs in the room, like he was clumsily trying to get closer. Mexico was reminded acutely of a puppy tripping over its own paws. He said, “I asked because I’ve missed you.”   
  
He finally reached Mexico and pulled him into a firm hug. Mexico let out a slight gasp because he had expected some sort of small talk or warning before anything became physical. He managed to say, “I’m here now, Alfie. I promise that I am.”   
  
He touched America’s face lightly, hoping that the gesture reassured him. He needed America to know that he was being honest. If he needed to be an obliging partner, he knew how to do it.   
  
America said, “You have no idea how happy I am right now. I dreamed about having you back.” He then pressed his lips against Mexico’s hard. Mexico knew it would make him happy to be kissed back, so he leaned into it and parted his lips to let America deepen the kiss.   
  
He did think momentarily that it was very typical that America would take a kiss without even bothering to ask. He felt America’s hands dip lower on his body. He knew he should not be surprised that America wanted to get sexual so quickly, but this did feel odd to him.  
  
America pulled out of the kiss and started to nuzzle Mexico’s nick and leave little kisses. It felt nice, and Mexico was ready to just let himself enjoy it.   
  
But, America paused. Mexico said, “Is something wrong?” America fixed him with a puzzlingly cold stare and said, “Cologne. You didn’t used to wear cologne.”   
  
Mexico knew what he was referring to, and it was just something he had added to be appealing for this. He said, “I wanted to smell nice for you.” His own voice sounded so falsely sweet in his own ears.   
  
America said, “It smells French.”  
  
Mexico felt cold at the last word. He knew where this was about to go. He said, “Alfie, don’t think-“  
America cut him off, “Is it French?”  
Mexico sighed and said, “Yes, it is.”   
  
America said in an angry growl, “Don’t wear it again. You belong to me now.”   
  
If Mexico did not have the politics in the forefront of his mind, he would have pulled away. Instead, he said, “I hope you mean that I belong with you.” America looked him straight in the eye and said, “I said what I meant.”  
  
—————————————-  
 **The Porfiriato**

“I know Francis was here a week ago.”   
  
America dropped the statement onto the middle of the dinner table, where it sat challenging Mexico to say anything to it. He stared at it a moment, contemplating the tones and the undertones, trying to read what America meant under this statement of fact.   
  
There was accusation in his voice, but that was always present these days. He seemed hungry for something to accuse Mexico of, some wrongdoing or shortcoming.   
  
But, if he knew something about France’s visit, he would have said something already. America wasn’t usually one to be coy if he felt like he had a conclusion. So, Mexico said, “And what about it? Porfirio invited him.”   
  
It was half true. The president had been the one to extend the invitation, but he hadn’t objected to it. France’s visits were one of the few things that brought him solace.   
However, in front of America he needed to be stoic. France could mean nothing to him. It was his president’s idea, and nothing more, even if he could still feel a spot on his neck that proved it was not.   
  
He could feel it against his collar, a subtle reminder of his own secret. It was faded enough that unless America looked closely, he would not notice any difference. It was intentionally so, since even an iota of suspicion could destroy the little joy that Mexico still had. If America managed to force him to bed again, he would not notice.   
  
America answered, sinking his fork into his food, “You expect me to believe that your president has been inviting your former lover to visit.”   
  
He paused for a moment, and there was the upturn of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. It was enough to turn Mexico’s stomach. Then America added, with the affect of a man who had won a victory, “Let alone to visit multiple times.”   
  
Mexico could feel his free hand curling into a fist where it sat on his thigh under the table. What he would give to be able to punch that smirk off of that smug face.   
  
He thought, viciously: _I hope you choke on that meal I made for you, imperialist bastard._  
  
The feeling of hatred was intoxicating. It felt like taking a sip of wine that he had not tasted since he left Madrid. It was familiar to be so close to someone he hated so fully.   
  
America’s eyes were fixed on him, waiting for a response to what he imagined to be a very good point. Mexico said, not allowing himself to sound flustered, “I don’t know what you believe, Alfred. But I am telling you that Porfirio likes the French, and enjoys having Francis here.”  
  
He knew that he wasn’t really lying. Mexico never asked France to visit, but he never really needed to. His president offered often enough, and France was yet to turn down a single one.   
  
He bitterly thought that France seemed to be the only one who really wanted to see him, and perhaps that was only for the use of his body. But, the way France would pull him close and pet his hair until he fell asleep felt more loving than that. It was easy to feel loved compared to America’s rough demands.  
  
America said, cuttingly, “What could he possibly like so much about the French? Does he forget that they invaded you?”   
  
Mexico bit into the inside of his lower lip to stop himself from speaking. There were harsh words just on the tip of his tongue.  
  
 _So did you and Juarez liked you._  
  
He wanted to shout the hypocrisy, but he forced himself to force the words back down his throat. With a false smile, he said, “Can you explain the things your presidents do? Porfirio says that the French are the height of civilization, and if you would like to change his mind about that, you can try.”  
  
America was silent for another moment as he ate with gusto. Mexico felt like he had lost his appetite. He reached for the glass of wine instead.  
  
One of America’s thick blonde eyebrows raised in a way that was frustratingly smug. He said, “And do you enjoy France’s visits? Do you enjoy it like you enjoyed his empire?”   
  
The tone of his voice was accusatory, and it was clear what he was trying to imply. He had not stopped bringing up the second empire since he had become aware of it. He couldn’t seem to let go of the idea that France was his great rival, and that the sexual liaisons during the empire had been replete with meaning and emotion. Mexico had begun to suspect that America was scared of a man who was truly better than him in bed.   
  
Mexico let out a long sigh, and replied, letting some of his irritation out, “Why don’t you just say what you mean Alfred? Tell me what you think I am doing.”  
  
He knew what the answer would be, but he wanted to force the other to say it. He wanted to hear the accusation explicitly and deny it.   
  
America fixed his gaze on him, and said, “Tell me there’s nothing going on. I want to hear you sat that you are not sleeping with him every time he comes here.”   
  
Mexico could feel the pulse of a vein in his forehead. He knew the words he wanted to say. He knew them well.  
  
 _I wish you knew what I did, and you would have to look at all the marks. I wish I could look you in your smug face and call you a cuckold._  
  
But, Mexico again forced it down. He could not voice his hate, even if he felt it hot in his veins. He said, “You really think that I sleep with him on diplomatic visits? Are you going to get suspicious of every visitor I have because I kissed them once?”  
  
It was easy to muster the outrage to sound like the suggestion was insultingly improbable, even if it was not. He had anger enough to spare, and hatred in spades.  
But, the bluff did nothing to change America’s mind on the matter. He said firmly, “Just say those words. Say that nothing is going on.”   
  
Mexico could feel his back teeth clenched together in response to the instruction. But, if that was what would make America happy, then he could say it. It didn’t have to be true.   
He unclenched his jaw enough to say, “Fine. Nothing is going on.”   
  
——————————-  
 **August 14th, 1945**  
  
The sun had already set by the time that America came crashing into the command building. Mexico had been checking on the reports for his own troops, but America came in like a hurricane and he could hardly ignore him.   
  
America pulled him into a hug that lifted him off his feet. Mexico was not proud of the little surprised gasp that he let out as the stronger man picked him up.   
  
America said, almost breathless, “It’s finally happening!” Mexico said, putting his hands on the America’s broad shoulders, “What happened?”  
  
He hadn’t seen America like this in years. He had seen him full of vigor and determination, but never beaming and sunny like this. It had been amazing to see him fighting for true justice for the first time. Mexico felt like he had seen the boy he had met so many years ago again.  
  
He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks. America was never more attractive than when he was truly happy. If his feet were touching the ground, that tanned, beaming face might make his knees weak.  
  
American answered with the widest smile possible, “Japan just surrendered! I won! We won!” Mexico’s heart beat fast at the answer. He had hoped for this end, for himself and for America and for the little sister he had finally been reunited with. He had told the Philippines that he would bring her freedom one day, and this solidified that he had kept his promise. Even decades later than he had meant it, but he had kept it.   
  
He felt himself smile back at America. The balls of his feet touched the floor again. He said, keeping his hand firmly on America’s shoulders, “Well done, Alfie. You really are a hero.”   
  
America put his hand firmly on Mexico’s face, and pulled their faces closer. Then, without a single word, he kissed Mexico. It was unexpected, but Mexico didn’t mind the crush of America’s lips against his own.   
  
He had been thinking about doing exactly this for months, and there seemed like no better way to celebrate victory. He pulled himself closer, even more firmly into America’s arms.   
  
He heard a purr from America as he did so. America’s hands were firmly on his lower back. America broke the kiss and Mexico said, “What was that all about?”  
America took a breath and said, “I want you. This is the best moment of my life, and I just want you.”  
Mexico knew that he should hesitate, but victory was heady and he didn’t feel like questioning what he felt. He said, “You can have me.”  
___________________________  
  
America sat up and moved to swing his legs off the bed. Mexico propped himself up on his elbow and said, “Where are you going? It’s late.”   
  
America had initiated it and he was suddenly trying to leave. It was irritating to Mexico, since he was already tired and wanted to sleep. America paused before he said, “I shouldn’t have done that.”   
  
That was even more frustrating. Mexico sighed and responded, “Usually I am the one who says that. What do you mean?”  
America shifted his weight nervously on the bed and said, “I am still dating Arthur.”   
  
Mexico resisted the urge to point out the irony of America being unfaithful. Instead he replied, irritated, “And what are you going to do right now? Are you going to go call him?”   
  
America shook his head. Mexico continued, “Is getting out of bed going to make it so you didn’t just fuck me?”  
America said, “No, but-“ Mexico cut him off, “Then get back in bed. I want to cuddle.”   
  
America quietly got back under the covers. Mexico cuddled up against him, and tried to close his eyes. But, America was apparently not done talking. He said, “You have no idea how much I have missed you.”   
  
He punctuated it with a kiss on the forehead. Mexico decided not to reply to that. But America continued with his train of thought, “I still love you so much. If Arthur takes this the way a normal boyfriend would, we aren’t going to be together much longer. Would you be willing to date me again?”  
  
Mexico closed his eyes and tried to summon an answer. America had been so much better during the war, so much like the man Mexico had fallen for years ago. But, the question felt so sudden and he had no idea what to say. He said, closing his eyes, “Let me sleep on it. I’ll decide in the morning.”  
  
—————————————  
  
 **Modern**  
It was a hot summer day and the meeting room was sweltering America pulled at his tie in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. It had been a terrible idea to have this meeting in the middle of the summer in the sweltering heat. He was so uncomfortable and already wanting this meeting to be over before it even began.   
  
Other countries slowly filed in, with looks of annoyance at the weather. America glanced at his watch and then at the empty chair next to him. Mexico had yet to arrive, but it was usual for him to be late.   
  
It took a few more minutes for his boyfriend to walk into the room, sweeping his hair out of his face with a look of annoyance. He sat down at the only available chair, which America had guarded for him. Mexico immediately pulled off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He said, annoyance obvious in his voice, “It’s too hot for politics.”  
America responded with the best scolding voice he could muster, “We have to have this meeting.”   
  
Mexico undid the first button on his shirt and said, “Do you know what I would rather be doing right now?”  
America suspected this was a ploy to get something out of the conversation, and he cut the other off, “Don’t start with-”  
  
Mexico talked right over him, “I could be at home wearing almost nothing.”   
  
He unbuttoned the second button on his shirt, displaying more of his chest, and America caught a glimpse of the gold necklace around his boyfriend’s neck. He felt a different heat on his skin at the idea of Mexico wearing nothing. The thought was distracting and he tried to push the thought away for the sake of being able to run the meeting.  
  
But, Mexico continued, “You can imagine it, can’t you? I could go for a swim in my pool wearing nothing.”  
  
America could see it in his mind’s eye and he knew that his face was turning bright red, and he knew that Mexico wouldn’t believe that it was from the heat. His boyfriend leaned even closer and said, his voice now intentionally sultry, “I could be naked and all wet right now, if we didn’t have to be here.”  
  
America was half convinced to call the entire meeting off and go back to his boyfriend’s house. He looked over and realized that Mexico’s shirt was halfway unbuttoned now, and that was not helping him focus. The other ran his finger down the side of his own neck, and it was incredibly enticing.   
  
Then, as America opened his mouth to say something, Mexico leaned back in his chair and said, “But politics are politics, and duty is duty.”  
America voiced his immediate reaction, “Hey, you can’t do that!”  
  
Then he was aware of the fact that they were in a room full of other countries. He looked around and saw all the eyes on Mexico. France and Spain looked like lions contemplating prey. America said, trying to hide his own blush, “What are you looking at?”   
  
———————————  
 **Modern**  
He was standing on the hill of Chapultepec with smoke in the air all around him. Mexico turned, trying to find somewhere to focus the attention. He had known the war was lost already before the battle was fought, but there was no way Mexico was going to concede to Alfred in such an unjust war.   
  
He turned to see America approaching him. He raised his sword, ready to defend himself.   
  
But, the reality of the battle seemed to bend around him. He was surrounded by soldiers, but he had to keep his attention firmly focused on America. If he could just do some damage, then he would at least have his pride.  
  
But, as he did so, searing pain slashed across his lower back. It was so agonizing. This couldn’t be what America wanted. He said that he loved Mexico, and he had sounded like he meant it.   
  
But, as he met America’s eyes, there were so little emotions behind the blue eyes. Mexico sank to his knees, succumbing to the terrible pain. The betrayal was far more painful than the injury. His vision went black as he looked up at America, who did not have any remorse behind his eyes.  
  
Mexico jerked awake, breaking out of the memory of an old war. For a moment, he felt like he was still in that black despair, until he looked around the room blearily. The sliver of light coming from between the curtains told him that he was not laying on the battlefield.   
  
That did nothing to banish the memory. His mind slipped back to the bed where he had woken up in a cold barren room in Chapultepec. The failure and misery of that moment laid on him like a weight on his chest.  
  
Mexico turned his head to the side, trying to find something to dissipate the feeling. His eyes found the man next to him in bed, sprawled comfortably. It was the same face that had looked down on him on that terrible day. The same blue eyes that had been so impassive.   
  
Mexico could feel his chest tightening and his heart started pounding. He drew in several shallow breaths, attempting to breath over the rising feelings. To keep the gulping breaths quiet, Mexico put his hand over his mouth.   
  
The heavy misery was evaporating, turning to urgency. Mexico couldn’t place all of his feelings, but he knew that laying next to America was making the pain of the slash that brought him down play over and over again.   
  
He needed to be anywhere but here, anywhere that would allow him to distance himself from these feelings. He felt like he couldn’t pull in a full breath. Each shaking breath brought that same old phantom pain across his lower back.   
  
He sat up as quickly as he could, even through the pain.   
  
America let out a sleepy mutter as he turned and felt around blindly in the spot that Mexico had just left. Mexico was not concerned at all with whether America missed him or not.  
He got up with the single-minded thought of leaving and walking until the memory stopped clinging to him. His footfalls, which he made no effort to hide, were enough to wake America, who opened his eyes. He said, sleepily, “Where are you going?”  
  
Mexico couldn’t trust his voice to be level, but he couldn’t leave the question unanswered. He took a painful deep breath deep into his lungs and said, “Don’t talk to me.”   
  
His voice came out shaky, betraying everything he was feeling. America recognized it well enough. He reached out and attempted to take Mexico’s hand, but Mexico pulled it away forcefully. He could not stand the thought of America touching him, not with that memory so fresh in his mind.   
  
The quick steps he took away from the bed felt like an escape.   
  
America refused to be denied. He stood up and walked after him. When he reached Mexico, he took him by the shoulders. His hands on his skin sent a jolt of pure panic through Mexico’s entire body. He did not want to be anywhere near the man, but America’s hold was firm and it wasn’t easy to turn away.   
  
America said, “Alejandro, it is alright. He isn’t here. You’re safe.”  
Mexico felt the panic turn to anger. He snarled back, “It wasn’t Antonio. It was you!”   
  
With both hands on America’s chest, he pushed the blonde as far away as possible. Mexico continued speaking, unleashing only some of the rage he felt, “You’re just like him! You couldn’t be happy that I wanted you in my bed! You had to own me just like everyone else!”   
  
America’s hands slipped away, and there was a look of genuine shock on his face. The blonde said, in a weak attempt to be assertive, “That was a long time ago. I wouldn’t hurt you.”   
  
Mexico stepped away, shaking his head. He couldn’t see anything genuine in those words. He couldn’t even think of a response to such empty words.  
  
But, he couldn’t separate his own feelings from the sheer panic and anger. The longing to be anywhere else grew stronger.   
  
He turned away and grabbed a shirt on the way out. He slammed the door behind him and hoped that America could take it as a clear enough sign that he should go back to be.  
  
Mexico had to walk until these feelings were exhausted. He was certain of that. If he was able to blunt these acute emotions, only then could he decide if he could stand to return to bed next to America.   
  
He turned and started to walk with no goal in mind. 


	2. Austria

**1598**  
The revelry was bright and colorful, but restrained. They both knew the rules of courtly ceremony. It would take time for all of the necessary people to say what they were obliged to, and to give gifts. Austria was sitting next to Spain, hoping that he could get all of these formalities over with.   
  
It was a royal wedding, and an important political alliance, so there would be no shortage of people who felt the need to show their respects. It already felt like it had been an eternity since the ceremony.   
  
The ring on his finger was an unfamiliar sensation, but it was not unpleasant. Austria stole a glance at his young husband. Spain was a promising new power, and this alliance would surely be a great boon to his ruling house. But, he was not thinking of the politics of the moment. He was looking at the tousled brown waves and the remarkably attractive green eyes. He was contemplating the Roman nose that undeniably marked him as a son of Rome.   
  
Spain was very handsome, and no one would deny it. He was also younger than Austria by a few years, and his recent military victories had made him strong and virile.   
  
Austria smiled to himself at the prospect of spending the rest of his life with this man. His monarch had done well in making him a match, and it would likely make him happy.  
  
Spain sighed and leaned over as yet another person came up to present them with a gift of some sort. He leaned over and said softly to Austria, “How much more of this must we endure?”   
  
It was so clear on his face that he was impatient with all of this ceremony. Austria couldn’t help but smile at the clear impatience. He said, “Don’t worry, it will end in due time. Then it’s a matter of the wedding night.”   
  
He had no idea whether Spain was a virgin. But, the lack of an embarrassed blush in his cheeks made Austria guess the answer. He was not disappointed. It meant very little to be his husband’s first, when he was promised night after night by the vows they had said. It would also mean that he wouldn’t have to worry about nervousness.  
  
Instead, Spain replied quietly, “All of these people don’t have to be present for that part too, do they?” The question seemed earnest, but Austria couldn’t help but respond, “Why? Are you nervous?”   
  
A roguish smirk crossed Spain’s handsome lips. He said, in a tone that sent a shiver down Austria’s back, “Is that a challenge?”   
  
Austria appreciated the boldness. He laughed and said, “No, don’t worry. We will be alone for our consummation.” Spain laid his hand boldly on Austria’s knee and said, “I would do my duty either way. I just wanted to know who was going to see it.”   
  
Austria looked down at the hand on his leg, and felt himself smile at this first physical contact. They had never been so close before, and it was intriguing. He said, “I hope that this will not be just duty for you.”   
  
Spain moved his hand further up Austria’s thigh, to the point of impropriety, but he was not about to complain. Austria felt slightly hot under the collar at the touch.   
It was only a prelude to what would come, but he already felt excited by it. Spain’s suggestive tilt to his eyebrow was enough to get him to blush as Spain said, “I promise that it will not feel like duty to you. I will make sure that you feel like my husband.”  
  
After the conclusion of a long series of formalities, they found themselves in front on the threshold of the bedroom. Austria stopped for a moment, feeling a pang of nervousness. He knew what should be done on a wedding night, but finally being alone with Spain made him feel uncertain.   
  
But, Spain seemed have to have no such uncertainties. He said, “Are you ready?”  
Austria swallowed all of his feelings and said, “I am.”   
  
Then, without prompting, Spain swept him into his arms. Austria was surprised to feel his feet leave the floor. Spain gave him a cheeky smile and said, “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry you to bed the first time?”   
  
It was charming of him, and Austria decided not to object. Instead, he gave Spain him a soft kiss on the cheek, and said, “You’re doing well so far.”  
  
For a moment the boyish smile fell as Spain looked at him earnestly and said, “I have never been married before, and I want to do it correctly. It’s important to me, and to the church.”  
If his youthful teasing had been endearing, then this little show of vulnerability was even more so. He seemed truly nervous, and all the sexual forwardness from earlier seemed to evaporate as he got closer to doing his duty.  
  
Austria put one hand softly on his face and said, “I am impressed enough already. Now take me to bed.”   
  
Spain nodded, and then stepped over the threshold, and did not even pause before carrying him over to the bed. Austria quickly found himself on his back looking up to Spain’s smiling face.   
  
He reached up and took Spain’s face in his hands, and pulled the man down towards him. He brought their lips together into the first deep kiss of the night. He could feel the firm pressure of Spain’s lips, and the assertive way that that they urged his apart. There was a calm dominance in his actions that Austria felt very comfortable with.   
  
He continued to hold Spain’s face as the kiss deepened, and he felt the other man’s hands on his flanks. It felt like he might be trying to find the laces to begin taking off his doublet. His hands fumbled, and it seemed like he was having some difficultly.   
  
Austria pulled out of the kiss so that Spain could look at what he was doing. Spain did exactly that, and then let out a long breath like he was steadying himself. He seemed nervous again as he slowly worked on the laces.   
  
Austria could guess that it was nerves because this was their wedding night. He said, “Is something the matter? You’ve done this before.”   
Spain let out another long breath and said, haltingly, “It’s just that…none of my other lovers have been like you.”   
  
Intrigued, Austria couldn’t stop himself from saying, “How so?”   
  
Spain shook his head and finally managed to untie the laces and pull the doublet open enough to reveal Austria’s neck and part of his chest.   
  
He replied, “It doesn’t matter. I’m marrying you.”   
Then he kissed Austria’s newly exposed neck, which erased any idea of asking more questions. Instead, he used one hand to pet Spain’s hair and said, encouragingly, “Yes, you are. Now, let’s make it official.”  
  
————————————————  
 **Mid 17th Century**  
  
There was candlelight playing on the dark ceiling. New Spain found it mesmerizing to watch it flicker. He was laying on the bed, his mind slipping between coherent thoughts. The light on the ceiling that moved with the tiniest breeze.   
  
He remembered having dinner with Spain and Austria, and nodding off and waking up in this bed. He hadn’t slept the night before, and the long, boring dinner had made him drowsy.   
He still didn’t feel completely awake, even though his eyes were open. He couldn’t place where Austria had gone, and he didn’t care. The man’s glares always made him want to wither away and hide. The bed was soft, and he was comfortable.   
  
He was sure that Spain had carried him to this room. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he felt Spain’s hand on his face, turning it gently away from the ceiling towards him.   
Spain was sitting on the bed with a smile on his face that New Spain was sure he should have unnerved him, but his half-sleepy mind was not processing. Spain softly stroked his face and said, “You look happy, my dear.”   
Mexico responded, his voice coming out quieter than he intended, “I am comfy.”   
  
He felt himself smile. Spain’s hand moved with slow determination down his cheek, and rested it under his chin. His voice was soft as he said, “Was Roderich boring you?”   
  
Mexico wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, since he knew Austria was married to Spain, and he did not want to be rude about Spain’s husband. He couldn’t even remember what Austria had been talking about over dinner before he slept, so he wasn’t sure if it was boring or not.   
  
He bit his lower lip as he tried to will his tired brain to come up with a response. He finally said, “Maybe a little.”   
  
Spain reclined on the pillows next to him, and kept his eyes on him. He looked very comfortable reclining like that. New Spain couldn’t name his own feelings about the moment, and didn’t bother to try.   
  
Instead, he let Spain put his arms around him and pull him closer so that he was on the pillows right next to him. It was warm, and he was comfortable enough that he could fall asleep again. The thought crossed his mind that Spain may want more from the night, but he was too drowsy to do it.   
  
Spain’s hand brushed a piece of hair off of his face, and said, softly, “Don’t worry about him. He will be going back to Vienna soon.”   
  
New Spain nodded sleepily. He remembered that Austria was here for a state visit that was almost over. It had been such a trying experience, since Austria took every moment that Spain looked at him as a personal affront. New Spain felt like the man was looking for some excuse to dislike him.   
  
Spain’s thumb grazed softly against the side of his face as he stroked his hair. It felt soft enough, and New Spain felt like he could easily fall asleep again with those soft touches. He responded, sleepily, “He’s your husband. I don’t mind him.”   
  
It wasn’t entirely honest, but he didn't want to seem like he was criticizing their marriage. But, Spain chuckled, “Yes, that is his title. I chose to marry him because he was powerful. I told myself that I could suffer a marriage to an old man if it made me stronger.” He paused for a moment and stroked New Spain’s face and said, “I did it for my faith, and to have the power to defend the Church. You can understand that, can’t you?”  
  
New Spain was not certain how he should respond to that. He had never questioned the marriage, but he had noticed a certain disinterest from Spain. He nodded to the question, and hoped that was enough.  
  
To his relief, Spain did not seem to want an actual answer from him. He continued, “But, God saw my loyalty; he knew the sacrifice I made. And he rewarded me with what I really desired.”   
There were shifting colors in his green eyes, and Mexico found them mesmerizing. He knew he was staring at Spain’s face like he was listening intently, but he was only half awake and half listening.   
  
Spain’s hand moved to tilt his chin up, and run his thumb across his lower lip. New Spain felt the intention in the touch, but he wasn’t going to stop it. Spain continued talking. He was singularly talented at continuing to talk when New Spain wasn’t really listening or responding.   
  
He said, “He gave me you, my perfect little prince.”   
  
Then he leaned forward and kissed New Spain on the lips. He pressed their lips together firmly, and New Spain let him. He urged the boy’s lips open and slipped his tongue into his mouth.   
  
He tasted like wine and sweets. There must have been a dessert that New Spain slept through.   
  
The older man started to leave kisses on New Spain’s cheek and neck. He then put a hand on New Spain’s thigh in a gesture that firmly suggested what he wanted.   
It felt nice, but New Spain was in no mood to reciprocate. He only managed a tired moan.   
  
Spain noticed the difference from the usual, and pulled away. New Spain was worried that he might look at him with confusion or anger.   
  
When he met Spain’s eyes, he saw a soft compassion. New Spain muttered back tiredly, “I’m sorry, Tony.”   
  
He was not sorry, but he felt like he should say it.   
  
There was another touch of his hair and Spain said, “You really must be exhausted, my angel. I can wait until morning.” He felt both of Spain’s arms wrap around him and pull him closer.   
Spain said, softly, “Come here.” He eased New Spain’s head against his chest, so that he was nestled firmly against Spain’s chest with his head resting on the pillows.   
  
New Spain cuddled closer and closed his eyes. Spain whispered softly, “You’re more precious than Roderich.”   
  
With his head pressed against Spain’s chest, he could hear his heart. The rhythmic beat was soothing. There was a hand in his hair, smoothing it. New Spain fell asleep listening to Spain’s heart, with Spain petting his hair.  
  
—————————————-  
 **Mid 17th Century  
**  
Spain sat down at the dinner table, where Austria was already sitting. Austria said, almost as soon, as Spain started to reach for a piece of the roasted duck in the middle of the table, “You are late again.”   
  
His tone could not have been more pointed. Clearly, he had something he wanted to say. Spain decided that he would make him wait for a response until he had food and wine. He knew it would frustrate Austria to not be answered immediately.   
  
He seemed to think that he was an emperor and everyone would bend to his whims. Spain wanted it to be clear that they were equals and he would respond what he was ready. He took his time in taking food and waiting for the servants to bring him something to drink.  
  
He could see the vein pulsing in Austria’s temple as he waited. Once Spain was satisfied that he had both wine and food, he said, “I have responsibilities to my empire that take time. I would think that you would understand.”   
  
He knew the truth of the matter, but he wasn’t going to vocalize it. He had been watching an artist paint New Spain and the session had gone longer than he expected. It was hard to pull himself away from New Spain’s appealing presence for the sake of his frigid husband.   
  
Austria scoffed as he tore a chunk of bread with his hand, “Your whole empire or one colony?”  
  
Spain looked up and his face betrayed the truth. Austria said bitterly, “I knew it.” His voice was laden with anger that left Spain with no doubt that he had heard all the rumors about New Spain, and had guessed at more on his own.  
  
Spain felt his defenses going up. His time with New Spain was precious to him and he was not about to give it up. He said, “What does it matter if I was with him? He is my most valuable colony.”  
  
He took a drink of wine and readied himself for a fight. He could see the angry furrowing between Austria’s brows. He knew that a storm was about to come. Austria said, “I am surprised you didn’t bring him to have dinner with us. You have invited him into every other part of our marriage.”  
  
Spain took another long drink, and found himself wishing that he had invited New Spain. That would have saved him from this tense conversation that he had no interest in having. He imagined how nice it would be to be spoon-feeding New Spain dessert instead of listening to the prattling of his husband.   
  
Austria continued speaking through the silence as he thought, “For a man who claims to be pious, you are happy to throw away a sacrament.”   
  
The dig was too far, and it sparked real rage. If there was one thing that he was certain of it was his faith, and he would not have it questioned over a flirtation. Austria had no room to judge him.  
  
Spain responded, trying to keep himself in check, “I am not trying to dissolve our marriage. I understand that we are married in the eyes of the Lord. How dare you-“ Austria cut him off, raising his voice to match him, “Do you remember your vows?”   
  
The question was difficult to answer, because Spain hardly did. They had been married so many years ago, and he had said them out of a political necessity instead of real conviction.  
The other man noticed his hesitation and said, “Let me remind you: You promised to be true to me to the end of your days, and to love and honor me. You are breaking your vows with this tryst of yours!”   
  
Spain pushed his plate away. There was no way that he was going to have a satisfying meal with this conversation. He replied, “You just resent that I love someone.”   
  
Austria’s gaze was ice cold as he said, “The thought of you with him makes me sick.”   
Spain countered, tired of holding his tongue, “Then get used to the feeling. I’m not leaving him.”  
  
Abruptly, Austria stood, and said, “I can’t stand looking at you.” Then he turned and walked out. 


	3. Argentina

**Mid 19th Century**

Argentina got out of bed carefully, trying not to wake his boyfriend. Chile thankfully slept soundly and rarely noticed when he got up. It made it easier for him to get out of bed and start preparing coffee and breakfast as Chile slept. It made him feel like a good partner to provide that little bit of pampering.  
  
He tucked the blankets in securely around the man and gave him a light kiss on the forehead before getting up. He got half way across the room before he heard the quiet groan of his partner waking. From the sound, he guessed that Chile’s eyes were open, but he had yet to move. There was no rustling of blankets, just the sound of his breathing changing and the groan of being resistant to the new day.   
  
Then, his voice carried across the room, “Where are you going?”  
Argentina turned around to see that Chile’s eyes were still half-closed and fixed on him. He smiled at Chile and replied, “I am going to go make breakfast.”   
  
The other stuck out his lower lip in a pout that looked almost out of place on his sharp features. He was only half-awake, and Argentina could not help but find it adorable the way that he still looked so relaxed and comfortable, but he is screwing his face into a contrived pout.   
  
Chile said, his voice laden with impudence, “No, don’t go.”  
  
He sounded like he was trying to be commanding, but ended up sounding more like an insistent child. Argentina smiled at him; he was being far too cute not to indulge some of his whims.   
  
Chile extended his hand out from under the blankets and made a grabbing motion at Argentina that reminded Argentina of his young brothers. He said, “Come here and kiss me.”   
  
Argentina decided to indulge this tired demanding; he had little else that he needed to do with the morning and Chile was being so cute. It was so hard to tell him no when he was being so intentionally adorable.  
  
He walked back over and stood close enough that Chile’s outstretched hand could reach his hip. He indulged in letting Chile pull him closer, though one hand was hardly strong enough to do that.   
  
Then, Chile propped himself up on one arms as Argentina leaned down to join their lips. The touch was sweet and soft. But, as they kissed, Chile put both of his arms around his neck.  
Then, with a surprising little tug, he pulled Argentina towards him. Argentina understood the hint; Chile didn’t want him to be out of bed quite yet.   
  
As he broke the kiss, he chuckled and said, “If you insist.” He folded himself back into bed next to his partner.   
Chile said, running one hands through Argentina’s dark curls, “I always get what I want.”   
  
Argentina kissed his forehead and pulled him closer so that Chile’s legs could wrap around him, and said, “Whatever you say, amor. I was going to make you breakfast.”   
  
Chile’s hand that was not in his hair began to trace its way down his stomach. The light touch made Argentina involuntarily shiver. Little goosebumps bloomed all over his skin. Chile smirked as he saw it, like this was exactly what he wanted. He said, “You can make breakfast later.”   
  
His hand moved even lower, and gave the Argentine one hard teasing stroke. Argentina let out a ragged breath. He hadn’t expected these kind of assertive teasing, but he was not going to complain.  
  
His lover gave him one more long deliberate stroke that made him groan. Chile leaned in and said, “I want you first.”   
  
Argentina smiled and pulled him into a deeper kiss, while he guided Chile’s legs around his waist. Then he gave Chile’s butt a squeeze, to show him that they were thinking the same thing. As he pulled out of the kiss, he said, “You’re right. You do get what you want.”   
  
————————  
 **19th Century  
**  
Argentina took a deep breath of the air. He loved the open air, it smelled of freedom. It was especially crisp this time of year.   
  
He looked at Chile’s back as the tall man stood out on in the long grass.  
  
Argentina could tell that his partner had been stressed the last week with the pressure of politics. Chile’s brother had been putting pressure on his borders and it had been weighing on him. He had not said it; he very rarely said when he was stressed. But, Argentina could see it in the hunch of his shoulders and the way he clenched and unclenched his fists when he had a perturbing thought.   
  
He had suggested this early morning ride as a chance to escape to the one place where they could be away for a while. It was their place, where they had always stolen away to find time alone with each other. It was the same place in the Pampas with a tree that Chile had once carved their initials in for permanence. No one in the world knew about this place but the two of them.   
  
He finished securing the horses before he walked up behind Chile. He could feel the cool autumn breeze tousling his dark curls.   
  
He could see that Chile had his head tilted back and his eyes closed. The angle of his head made his features look all the sharper. He looked like he was deeply absorbed in the sounds of the morning.   
  
Argentina wanted to speak to him, wanted to ask what was on his mind. But, the look of deep peace was too precious to interrupt.   
  
He put his hands on Chile’s shoulders lightly. Chile let out a low breath and leaned into the touch. He put his hand on Argentina’s on his shoulder. He gave it a light squeeze and said, his voice hardly louder than the wind, “No words just quiet, please.”   
  
His voice sounded soft and tender, like he hardly wanted to keep the peace. But he did lean back against Argentina’s broad chest. He opened his eyes and looked at Argentina.   
There was no need for words at all. His eyes spoke volumes. They told him that Chile wanted a moment of tenderness. That in his stress, all he wanted was to feel a moment of love.   
Argentina leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Then, Chile turned towards him completely, inviting the further contact. He brushed back Argentina’s curls with his hand as the taller man leaned in again and pressed their lips together.   
  
He felt Chile put both arms around his shoulders and pull him in. He could feel the stress melting out of Chile’s body as he held him closer and kissed him as tenderly as he could.   
  
As they parted, Chile trailed his hand softly down the side of his partner’s face and said softly, “I want to stay here with you.” Argentina replied, “We can stay as long as you want.”   
  
He kissed Chile again, holding him close like he could protect him from the pressure of the world forever. As long as they had each other in this place that was theirs, it would be enough.  
  
———————————-  
  
 **World Cup 2018  
**  
Mexico felt his phone vibrate and he opened it to a text that said, “Come to my room, please. Kitten, I need you now.”   
  
He knew who it was from, and there was no question in his mind about responding. He knew that Argentina would need him in this moment. He quickly wrote back “On my way.”   
  
He only grabbed his hotel key before leaving the room. It didn’t take him long to get to Argentina’s room. He knocked several times hard on the door.   
  
There were a couple moments of tense silence, where Mexico worried about Argentina. He knew what had happened in the game earlier in the day, and he knew how badly Argentina must be hurting.   
  
The door opened slowly to reveal Argentina. His waves were falling over his eyes, which was a bad sign. Since he had learned how to be confident, he had brushed his hair back. But, this was a sign that he was feeling terrible about himself.   
  
As soon as he saw who was standing at his door, Argentina pulled Mexico into a tight hug. He said, “Kitten, it hurts.” His voice was shaking, and Mexico knew what that meant about his emotional state. All of Argentina’s crushing strength was wrapped around him, and it was almost too much.   
  
Mexico turned his head to kiss the other man on the cheek. He said, putting one of his hands in Argentina’s blonde waves, “It’s alright, my darling.”   
  
Argentina leaned back, and Mexico was able to reach up and brush back his hair. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were swollen. It was so clear that he had been crying. Mexico said, “Let’s go inside.”   
  
He was worried that, in this state, someone might see through Argentina’s usual arrogant facade to his vulnerable core. It was better not to be out in the hall.   
  
Argentina nodded, still looking like he was fighting back tears. Mexico followed him into the hotel room and firmly closed the door behind him. The room looked messy, but that wasn’t unexpected. Argentina ran one hand roughly through his hair, and turned back to Mexico. He said, “I’m not ready for everyone to see me like this.”   
  
Mexico took the initiative to walk over to him and looked him directly in the eyes. He said, “We don’t have to go out until you are ready.”   
For emphasis, he reached up and placed his hand against Argentina’s face. The taller man looked down at him and said, his voice sounding strained, “Thank you. I knew you would understand.”   
  
Mexico nodded. He knew this was not the world cup that Argentina had been expecting, and he was taking it poorly. He was more sensitive than most people knew, and it was difficult for him to deal with humiliation like this.   
  
Argentina’s dark eyes started to fill with tears again as he said, “Come sit with me.” He took Mexico by the hand and led him over to the bed.   
Mexico said, trying to be coy, “The bed? Is that the kind of comfort you want?”   
Argentina turned to him and said, his voice still shaking, “I don’t know.”  
  
He sat on the bed heavily, and Mexico felt a pang of guilt at his teasing. He should know that Argentina genuinely wasn’t certain what he wanted out of this moment.   
  
Mexico sat beside him, and took his hand again. He said, hoping to comfort him, “There is still a chance.”   
Argentina pulled in a deep breath that made his big chest heave. He said, still clearly upset, “I was supposed to be a favorite to win.”  
  
Mexico said back, “You’re still incredible. One loss doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”   
  
Argentina’s eyes communicated so many thoughts as he looked directly at Mexico. But, without saying anything, he put his hand under Mexico’s chin and leaned in. Mexico knew what he was doing, and leaned in enough for it to be easy for Argentina to kiss his lips. The touch was soft, clearly reaching for comfort.   
  
Mexico put his hand on the other’s face and could feel the moisture on his cheeks. The kiss was short, and Mexico felt a little empty when they parted.  
  
Argentina said, “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”   
Mexico smiled, and said, “I’m always glad to help.”   
  
Argentina was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I’m glad Isabelle hasn’t said anything yet. I’m sure she’s feeling smug.”   
Mexico scoffed and edged closer to Argentina, “I’m sure she will notice that I’m gone. She’ll guess that I’m with you.”   
  
The other looked at him and said, “You two have already been together?”   
  
Mexico knew he didn’t really need to answer the question. The implication was enough. He saw something shift in the taller man’s demeanor, and a slight smile turn up the corner of his mouth.   
  
Argentina put his hands on Mexico’s hips and pulled him easily into his lap. Mexico raised one eyebrow, though he had no doubt why.  
  
Argentina said, as explanation, “Well, I can at least prove that I am better at one thing.”   
Mexico planted a soft kiss on his forehead before he said, “You know I love you both.” Though Mexico enjoyed the rivalry between them, he wouldn’t choose one over the other. 

  
Argentina pulled him into a deeper kiss, this time firm and clear in his intention. When he pulled away, Argentina said, with a smile, “Such a spoiled prince. You get to have both.”   
Mexico responded, “But you love me.”   
Argentina replied simply, “I do.“


	4. The Aztec Empire

**Before 1521  
**  
“Let me hold him again,” Zapotec extended her hands towards her sister. Aztec was holding her baby boy, who had been born a few weeks ago. He was still very small, and very vocal. He tended to cry and laugh loudly, even for a child of his age. He always cried the loudest when he was away from his mother and wanted back to her.   
  
Toltec said that it was a good sign, that he had strong lungs. She said that he was strong baby, despite being born after eight months instead of nine. He did look healthy, and pudgy as a baby should be. He already had a head of thick dark hair, and long eyelashes for a baby.   
  
He was sleeping lightly in his mother’s arms, and Zapotec wanted so badly to hold him again. The first time she had held him had been so special, and so sweet. He looked so peaceful.  
Aztec looked up at her, and said, “He will wake up. Let him sleep.” Then, seemingly on habit, she turned to Toltec and asked, “That would be better, right?”   
  
Their older sister was sitting with them in the gardens. They were all sitting outside in the warm afternoon among the blooming gardens outside the palace. Toltec was the eldest, and had also trained as a midwife, so Aztec had been asking her many questions about the baby. She was anxious new mother, and Toltec knew best.  
  
Zapotec found it a little amusing to see their sister, who was always the self assured warrior in battle, being so quick to ask for someone else’s advice. Toltec said, patient as ever, “He won’t notice. He sleeps soundly.”   
  
Aztec nodded, then said softly to the baby, “Your aunt is going to hold you now.”   
  
He didn’t react except to turn his head ever so slightly as he stirred in his sleep. He did seem to be incredibly soundly asleep. The squalling must have been tiring.   
  
Zapotec reached out and took him from her sister’s arms, making sure to put her hand behind his head. Then she pulled him firmly into her arms.   
  
He was so small and light, but holding him made her feel like her heart was glowing. He felt like a little gift that she had been trusted with. Zapotec said, speaking to him, “Hello, little one.”   
  
She stroked his downy black hair, which made him coo softly along to whatever he was dreaming. She felt herself melting at the sight of his tiny sleeping face. A smile spread across her face. She took his little hand between her finger, and he curled his fingers around hers and gave them the littlest squeeze.   
  
It was so precious that Zapotec knew she must be smiling happily at the baby. Toltec said, “Oh, don’t make that face. You cannot have one of your own; one baby is enough for now.”   
  
Zapotec was sure that her older sister had seen her smiling. She responded, “He’s just so cute. I think I want a baby of my own one day.”   
  
She saw her sister raise an eyebrow in warning and she quickly added, “Not right now. I just think I like babies.”   
  
Aztec chuckled, and said, “Maybe I should let you wake up with him in the middle of the night. Then tell me how much you like babies.” Zapotec knew that babies had the tendency to cry in the middle of the night, and she could see that her sister looked quite tired. Surely Aztec had her hands full with a newborn baby, and he did seem like he slept more during the day than he did during the night.   
  
She replied, “I know that it is hard work. But look at how cute he is; he’s worth all the work.”  
  
Little Mexica started stirring in response to the conversation and sleepily opened his eyes. Zapotec spoke to him in a soft voice, “You don’t know it yet, but you are going to be the most loved little prince to ever exist.”  
  
He smiled a toothless smile at her. Zapotec looked back up at her sisters, and said, reassuringly “You don’t have to worry about anything. I want to have a husband before I have a baby.” Then she looked at Toltec and asked, “Am I going to have a husband?”  
  
That earned her a reproachful shake of the head, as she knew it would. Toltec responded, “You know that I am not allowed to use my gifts for something that trivial. The gods did not let me see the future so that I could tell you who you are going to marry.”  
  
Baby Mexica seemed to be realizing that he was awake, and he started squirming. Aztec noticed immediately and said, “Give him back to me before he starts crying. He’ll want me.”  
  
Zapotec nodded, and handed the squirming baby back to his mother. The moment Aztec cradled him against her chest again, he stopped moving and looked lovingly up at her. He clearly knew who his mother was and loved her dearly.   
  
Aztec chuckled and said to Toltec, “I remember you telling me that I was going to marry an old man and have babies. You weren’t wrong.”  
  
Toltec gave her the kind of glare that only a disapproving older sister could manage and said, “I was ten years old and you were pulling my hair. And your husband isn’t an old man, he’s just older than you.”  
  
She paused for a moment and then added, “And mother punished both of us for that incident.”   
  
Zapotec listened to them talk and tried to remember when this had happened. They had all had their arguments, like sisters were prone to from time to time. She didn’t remember this argument specifically, but she was sure that their mother’s punishment had been harsh. Teotihuacan had high standards for each one of them, and had never tolerated bickering and misbehavior.   
  
Aztec’s smile fell a little as she looked down at her baby. For a moment, Zapotec was concerned that something had upset her. Her pregnancy had made her emotions more volatile.  
Aztec said, “I wish mother was here. I wish that she knew that she has a grandson with her eyes.”   
  
She stroked Mexica’s little cheek and said to him, “She would have loved you, my little jaguar cub.”  
  
Toltec was looking at her understandingly. She said, comforting her little sister, “She does know. The dead aren’t gone. They are still watching over us, and I know she is proud of us.”  
  
______________________  
  
Zapotec stopped telling the story as she spoke the words. It was a pleasant memory, but the words struck an uncomfortable chord. Mexico reached out and took her hand, and said, softly, “Tia, is everything alright?”  
  
Zapotec looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes. She didn’t mean to make him worry. The past had just proved more difficult to discuss than she had anticipated.   
She said, “I’m alright. I was just thinking about how much I miss my sisters.” Mexico nodded and replied, “I miss my mother too.”  
  
Zapotec felt like she may have brought up more painful memories than she had intended, since the point had been to tell Mexico about his family. She found it deeply tragic that he remembered so much about Spain and so little about his life before that.  
  
She smiled at him and took his hand firmly in her own. She said, “But, I’m not alone. I have you. I’ll tell you more stories later.”   
  
————————————————  
 **Before the Conquest  
**  
Aztec held her son tightly in her arms as he squirmed slightly, like he was impatient at being held so long. She smiled to herself, her little boy had such incredible energy, which would serve him well when he was older. He would be such a strong warrior, she was certain. He let out an impatient, “Mama.”  
Aztec said, “Be patient, my precious jewel. We’ll see your dad soon.”  
  
She stepped into the room, still keeping her eyes on her child. The Mayan empire was already seated, and putting away his work from the day. He looked up when he heard Mexica call out, “Dada!” Aztec walked a little more quickly to reach her husband. She said, “He’s been looking forward to seeing you. Haven’t you, my sweet son?”  
  
He giggled and reached out towards his father, who let the tiny hand touch his cheek. He reached out towards his wife, inviting her to hand the child over to him. She placed her son carefully in his father’s arms, and he squealed happily as he put his hands more resolutely on both of his father’s cheeks.  
  
Maya smiled and said, “You’re getting so strong, little one.”   
  
Aztec sat across from her husband and looked at the two of them. They looked so sweet together and it was impossible not to feel like this was comfortable and that this was home.   
Mexica seemed to get restless in his father’s arms after a few minutes. He was an energetic child and could never sit still long.  
  
Maya, understanding his son’s wants, placed the boy carefully on the floor. He expected his son to start crawling, but Mexica pushed himself up from the ground, and stood unsteadily on his feet. He swayed from a second, but found his balance again.   
  
Experimentally he took a wobbly step forward. Aztec felt her heart leap at the sight. She held out her arms to him and said encouragingly, “You can do it! Come to me.”  
  
He took another step and her smile widened. There was concentration written all over Mexica’s little face, but he was continuing to take steps. There was little space between his parents, but it seemed to take enormous effort. Aztec continued to encourage her son. She wanted him to fight through, persistence would be important for him to have the rest of his life.  
  
He managed to traverse the space, but looked completely exhausted. One step away from his mother, he swayed, and she could tell that he was too tired. As he gave into gravity, and she caught him easily. Holding him close to her again, she said, “You did well my little jaguar cub.”  
He said, his energy returned, “Mama.”   
  
There was an insistent whine in his voice, accompanied by his hands pawing insistently at the cloth covering his mother’s breast. She understood, “Oh you’re hungry.” With a series of movements that were well practiced, she removed the cloth so that her son could cuddle against her breast and started sucking.   
  
When Aztec looked away from her son and back at her husband, she noticed that he had tears in his eyes. Before she could ask why, he said, “The gods have blessed us.” She held her son tightly and said only, “Yes, they have.”

  
————————————-

**Before the Conquest**

Mexica caught a glimpse of color out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and, saw that there was a hummingbird hovering near a flower. The midday sun of the garden shone bright on its feathers. The wings were beating so quickly that they appeared to be a blur.

Little Mexica watched it with fascination. He liked the color on the feathers and the way that it shifted in the light was entrancing. It was beautiful, he thought. Even a little magical, like an animal that was more magic than the rest of the world.

He had never seen an animal like it before, and he wanted to know everything about it. The animal seemed so unending fascinating to him, so different from all the other things he had seen.

There were many different birds, he knew that. His mother had showed them to him before, both the ones that were flying in the skies, and those that were in the market for food. He even knew about the beautiful sacred birds whose green feathers made headdresses, and the one eating the snake in the pictures on his mother’s palace.

But those were all big birds, and this was a small one that looked incredibly colorful. The way its wings moved fascinated him.

He wanted to know everything that he could about it, and if it was special to the gods like other animals. It seemed like such an incredible creature that it must be special to one of the gods.

He smiled to himself as his mind filled with all the questions he wanted to ask his mother. He wanted to know everything about every part of the world, but at the moment he really wanted to know about the specific creature. She always had the answers to whatever he asked, and he felt like she knew everything that there was to know in the world.

“What are you looking at my cub?”

Mexica immediately turned to face his mother, and pointed excitedly at the bird. He said, tripping over the words as he rushed to get them out, “Look at the bird, Mama. What is it? Is it magic?”

There were more he wanted to ask, but his mother’s kind smile made him stop. He knew she would tell him in time, and it would do no good to overwhelm her.

She followed his gesturing and seemed to see what he was pointing at. Then she said, “Yes, that is a magical bird, little one.”

As she said it, the hummingbird seemed to finish what it was doing at the flower and flew towards them. Mexica noticed and smiled at the prospect that it would come closer so he could see it better.

He was even more thrilled when it flitted around his head, seeming to look at him inquisitively as it did so. For a moment, he felt like the bird had almost human curiosity in him. It was looking at him with its bright little eyes.

Then it flew up and did the same around his mother. Mexica tugged at her cloak with his little hand and said impatiently, “What is it doing?”

He wanted to know so badly. Had he imagined that it was looking at him with interest and curiosity? What kind of magic was it? Was its attention a blessing?

The curiosity was burning him up inside. She disentangled his hand from her cloak and squatted to be at his level. She said, as patient as ever, “When someone goes to the afterlife, they can come back to see the people that they love. But, they can’t come back in their human body.”

He nodded, remembering all the stories she had told him about the afterlife, about how people went through a journey to get there. He remembered that the little dogs that his aunt had were the guides to the afterlife. He had told his aunt that he also wanted a dog, and she had smiled at him and said that he would have to wait.

His mother rested a hand on his shoulder gently and continued, “Once per year, they can come back as a spirits if you set up offerings to guide them back. But, sometimes they like to come back other times to see how things are.”

Mexica thought he understood. It would be bad to never see your family again, so of course they came back. It made sense to him and, he nodded.

She pointed at the direction that the bird had flown away and said, “When they do, they look like that, especially when they were great warriors in life. I am sure that was one of your ancestors coming to see us..”

Mexica felt a sudden sense of honor. One of his ancestors coming back to see him was an incredible thing. But, he also thought that he must have looked foolish babbling his questions in that way.

He must have looked worried that he had not made the best impression on one of his ancestors, since his mother reacted by moving her hand from his shoulder to caress his face as she said, “Don’t worry. I am sure they were proud of you just like I am. I know your grandparents would have liked to meet you if they were still alive.”

He straightened his back and pushed his chest out, like he was trying to look impressive. He wanted her to be proud of him, and he wanted his grandparents to be proud too.

She laughed a little and said, “Don’t strain yourself, little one. There will be time to be a mighty warrior when you grow up.”

Mexica let out the breath he was holding and let himself relax. Aztec stood up and offered him her hand, and said, “Shall we see the rest of the garden?”

Mexica nodded enthusiastically and took her hand. He hoped that they would find something else that was new and exciting.

* * *

Mexico was leaning against his best friend as they sat on the porch of his home. He was watching the afternoon fade into a pleasant evening. The sky was slowly turning from orange into a velvety twilight.

In particular, he was watching a flowering vine where three hummingbirds were feeding. Cuba followed his gaze and said, “That’s more hummingbirds than you usually see in one place.”

Mexico took a sip of the wine that he was holding and said, “I think it’s the flowers here. I have always seen so many of them here, even when I was still a colony.”

He had never had a good explanation for it - at least not one that seemed rational. He remembered an old story or two that his mother had told him, but it always felt a little childish and pagan to voice them.

Cuba was stroking his hair, and it was very pleasant and soothing. He felt like he was with the one person who would never judge him for voicing a kind of pagan sentiment. This was a safe place, and he knew it in his heart.

He said, beginning to test the idea of saying what he thought, “I have always liked them, ever since I was a child.” Cuba continued to run in fingers through his hair and said, “Hummingbirds?”

It didn’t sound like judgement, just a question of clarification. Mexico replied, “Yeah, I think they are beautiful.”

He saw Cuba nod out of the corner of his eye, and took it as a good sign. He drew in a breath through his nose and added, “My mom once told me that they’re my family coming back to see me.”

He hadn’t said that to anyone since the conquest, and it felt strange saying it. It felt like something he should not believe as a rational man. But, in his heart he felt like it was more true than the idea of heaven and hell.

Cuba said, “Do you think that is true?”

Mexico wasn’t sure what he should say. On a rational level, he was aware that it was possible that those who were dead were just dead.

But, he wanted to believe that it was not so simple, and that his parents could return and see who he had become. There was also a memory from a century ago that he couldn’t forget. It was of another place where he had seen his parents again. He remembered the feeling of his mother’s hug, and it was hard to believe that it had all been an exceptionally vivid dream.

He took another sip of wine and then said, “I don’t know. I want to think so.”

As he said the last sentence, he could hear the echo of a scared little boy in his voice. It was the sound of someone who wanted so badly to know that his parents could watch over him.

It wouldn’t be new to Cuba, who had met that little boy when he was most scared and most in need of a friend. This vulnerability was something that he could only trust his best friend with.

Cuba said, “Well, if it is, then I think your family is keeping an eye on you. I think they love you very much.”

Mexico smiled to himself. He liked that idea. He liked to think that his mother was still with him, and was maybe even proud of him. He decided to let himself bask in that thought for the rest of the night.

\------------------------------

1822

Mexico put aside his work for the night. He had never realized how much paperwork went into running an empire. Now that he was newly independent, all the work that had been handled by Spain and Texas had landed on his desk.  
  
He could have insisted that Texas continue doing the work, but it felt irresponsible to put it on someone else now that he was independent. This was part of the reality of being an empire in his own right and he had to do it.   
  
But it was getting late and the figures for expenses and incomes were starting to swim on the paper. With a sigh, he pushed it aside and stood up.  
  
Sleep was never a pleasant prospect for Mexico because it usually came with nightmare that brought back the worst of his memories. But, he couldn’t avoid it forever and the prospect of being sleep deprived in battle was enough to force him to bed.   
  
He stripped off most of his clothing and climbed into bed. For a moment it was nice to just appreciate laying down and feeling every muscle in his body thanking him for finally resting.   
He heard an excited yip as one of his many dogs ran into the room and bounded into his bed. He sighed again and said, “If you insist.” and pet the soft fur on the dog’s head as she curled up right next to his chest. With his hand still on her head, he fell asleep.   
  
The dream felt pleasant, and he could feel that he was laying on a soft surface. His eyes were still closed, as if he had fallen asleep here instead of his own bed. A calloused hand brushed back his hair from his face.  
  
Though the position was comfortable, he was also curious about who was so lovingly stroking his hair. He slowly opened his eyes. He was looking up at a face that was so like his own that it was like looking in a mirror. He instantly recognized the person and said, “Mama!”   
  
Aztec smiled down at him and replied, “Yes, my jaguar cub?” Mexico felt a stinging in the corners of his eyes as he felt tears welling up. He hadn’t seen her in so long and he couldn’t find the words that he wanted to say first.  
  
He could tell that he was laying with his head in her lap and the tender touches had been her. He knew it was a dream, but it the moment it felt so real. His mother was here and she felt as solid and warm as any other person. And every detail of her appearance was as he remembered, from her golden eyes to the tattoos up her arms. He remembered when he had been younger asking her about all of her tattoos and listening intently to the stories of the battles when she had earned them.   
  
He finally settled on saying, “I missed you.”  
He could hear his voice shaking as he said it. Aztec put her hand on his cheek and said, “I have missed you too. But I am glad you are here with me.” Mexico felt the urge to cry start to subside, replaced with a warmer contented feeling.   
  
But he was curious as to what world his mind had created. He pulled his eyes away from his mother’s face and looked around. He couldn’t place where the room was, but he knew it was somewhere he had spent a lot of his time as a child. Outside the sun was low in the sky, like the day was ending.   
  
Mexico glanced down at his own body and realized that he was wearing his entire imperial regalia.   
  
The feeling struck him that he should take this opportunity to say everything he wanted to say, even if it was just a dream. He took a deep breath and sat up.   
  
Aztec looked confused and a bit hurt that he had pulled away from her. Mexico said, trying to keep himself from crying again, “I am sorry that I was not what you expected.”   
  
He didn’t want to meet her eyes as he said it. He didn’t want her to confirm that he was a disapointment. But he felt her hand under his chin and brought his face back up to look him in the eyes. Her eyes were terrifyingly sharp and she said in a voice that wasn’t undeniably commanding, “Don’t ever say that again.”  
  
His voice vanished under her gaze. He understood how she so easily commanded armies. But, her eyes softened as she said, “I could not be prouder of you. You fought for what was yours by right.”  
He said, trying to explain everything he was feeling, “But, Mama, I-“  
She cut him off sharply, “What did I say? You are not allowed to doubt yourself.”   
  
He glanced away and realized that the sun was lowering toward the horizon. She continued, “I knew you would be a warrior, and you have become so strong. I just wish I had been there to see you grow up and to give you guidance.”   
  
Mexico felt the unbidden tears coming back. He had wanted to hear those word for so long, and they made all of his carefully constructed walls crumble. She saw the look in his eyes and pulled him into a hug.  
  
He let himself smile, and be comforted by her embrace. He said, still holding onto her tightly, “I don’t want to lose you again.“  
  
He felt childish for being so emotional, but he felt safe being honest about his feelings in front of her. And he reminded himself that this was all his own dream, so there was no danger to this vulnerability. She responded, “I’m always watching you, my dear son.”   
  
Mexico buried his face in her dark hair and felt her pull her cloak up over his shoulders protectively. He said, “I love you so much, Mama.”  
She replied in his ear, “I love you more than anything.”

As the sun finally sank below the horizon, he closed his eyes and felt more whole than he had since the conquest.   
  
Mexico opened his eyes to see that all of his dogs had managed to crowd in around him on his bed. They were all still sound asleep. He slowly got up, being careful not to disturb any of them.  
  
He walked to the window to see what time of night it was, usually it was pitch black when he woke from him nightmares. But when he pulled back the curtain, the light of the late morning streamed in through the window.  
  
It was a strange feeling to know that he had slept all the way through the night for the first time he could remember since he was a child. It was equally as strange that he had finally dreamed something pleasant without it turning into one of his nightmares.   
  
He felt an incredible energy and enthusiasm at the prospect of facing the day. He felt like her arms were still around him, protecting him. He put his hand on the medallion next to his heart. Even if it was just a dream, he felt the warmth from it lingering.  
  
————————————  
  
 **Modern  
**  
Aztec took careful steps across the room. Most of the house was dark, but she knew the way. There had been a time that this place had been strange to her. It was not part of the city she had built, even if it stood on the same land. But, it had become familiar over the years as she visited.   
  
Mexico had never failed to leave an ofrenda that could pull her back to the living world. He was a dutiful son, and Spain’s strict prohibition had stopped him from doing it.  
  
The steps were well practiced by this point. They led from the altar to her son’s bedroom. She knew the geography well enough to find her way in the dark.  
  
She could visit him earlier in the night, but it felt more private to see him now that he was alone. There were also others who visited him earlier in the night, and Aztec would rather be alone with him. She had no desire to intrude on the time when his handsome general or his former emperor visited him.  
  
He had more than one grave to visit. It was a long night for him, and she would rather be there at the end.Her only priority for the night was to be with him; there was no one else in the world that she would come back to see.   
  
One of his dogs was sitting at the entrance of his bedroom. As Aztec got closer, the dog perked up his ears and looked at her. The animals seemed to be able to see spirits more easily than humans, and the bond these dogs had with Mexico made them very attuned to her.   
  
The dog who had seen her started to wag his tail enthusiastically. After all these years, he knew her. She kneeled long enough to give him a pat on the head.   
  
They were little animals, but they were Mexico’s guardians regardless. She could tell from the way they reacted to her presence that they cared deeply for her son and would protect him.   
They had been cautious about her at first, and that felt like a good thing. Her son needed whatever protection they could provide. Eventually the dogs had understood that she was here for good.  
  
She gave the dog one more pat and then stood again.   
  
The dog continued to wag his tail until a voice called to him, “Tlahuicole, come here.”   
  
Aztec stepped into the room as the little dog ran inside.   
  
Mexico was sitting on his bed, busying himself with pulling off his shoes. There were piece of a costume folded neatly on one of the tables.  
  
Mexico clearly took care with his possessions. His house had a sense of order to it that Aztec wanted to believe that he learned from her, even though their years together had been so brief.   
  
Mexico was readying himself for bed. He had already changed and washed his face, though there were still traces of white paint right at his hair line.   
  
Seeing him made Aztec smile, as it always did. The sight of him strong and healthy always reassured her year to year.   
  
Mexico picked up his dog and said, “What were you doing, little one? Were you talking to spirits?”   
  
Aztec felt a twinge of sadness at that. She sat next to him, and wished that he could see her.   
  
If she had been able to raise him, he would have been taught how to see the future and how to see spirits. Toltec had said that he had the gift, and she had never been wrong. But, without anyone to teach him, he would never be able to use it the way he should.   
  
She felt like it was her fault that he had never learned. It had seemed like there was time when there was really so little. He had been too young to learn before Spain destroyed everything.  
But, she could have some contact with him. Toltec had said that with his gifts would still allow him to feel touch, even if he could not see.  
  
Aztec reached over and touched his face, caressing him softly. He had grown up to be such a handsome man. She could see her own features in his face, and very little of his father. It made some sense to her; he had always been more her son than his father’s.  
  
Mexico turned towards the touch and ran his finger over the spot after hers had left it. It seemed like he could still feel it.   
  
The way that a warm smile appeared on her face made it feel like he knew she was there. It was impossible to say what he knew, but she wanted to believe that he knew her touch. He was her baby, and her touch was the first he had ever felt in the world. If that could not be familiar, then nothing could.  
  
He turned his head and seemed for a moment to look at her. She knew he could not see her, but there was a moment of hope before he looked away. Aztec touched his face again and said, “You must be tired, my cub.”   
  
This was another reason she always came late in the night. Once he was asleep, it was easier to reach him. His dreams had always been one of the few places where she could actually speak to him.   
  
As if in response, Mexico yawned and turned his head to look longingly at his pillow. He yawned again and seemed to decide that he would like nothing better than sleep.  
  
He finished pulling off his shoes and laid his head on the pillow. The dog took it as an opportunity to curl up right next to him.   
  
Aztec was waiting patiently for the moment to talk to him. It was the only day of the year when she could.   
  
His eyes closed, and he fidgeted a little to find a comfortable position. It was the same way he had settled into bed as when he was a child.  
  
Aztec touched his hair again, and the touch seemed enough to lull him to sleep. As she did every year, she laid down next to him and closed her eyes and passed into the dream with him.  
  
___________________________  
  
The place she arrived in was a creation of Mexico’s mind, and Aztec had little control of it. But, it was familiar.   
  
They were the gardens in Tenochitlan, and it was always striking to her that they were so accurate, though he must have very few memories of it. Though the place was jewel bright and perfect in the way that only a child’s memories could be.  
  
She turned her head to see Mexico standing beside her, tall and handsome as ever. He looked better in recent years than he had in the past, and she took solace in that. It was difficult not to worry about him when she could only talk to him once per year.   
  
He smiled and said, “Mama.”   
  
He always seemed slightly surprised by her presence, but she would never miss this day. He was her greatest pride, and she would visit him every day if she could.   
She pulled him into a hug and said, “I have missed you, my jaguar cub.”  
  
He returned her hug and held her close. It felt good to have him in her arms, and she never wanted to let him go. But, they had limited time and she wanted to speak to him. Mexico said, “I missed you too. I have so much that I want to tell you.”   
  
That made her smile, since she felt like he valued her insight and approval. Especially in recent years, he seemed to ask for her advice regularly. And she was never going to deny him, especially when he seemed to want advice so sincerely.   
  
He slowly released her from the hug. She felt a little sadness every time he let go of her, even if it would be easy to hug him again. But, it had been the same ever since he was born. It felt like he was meant to be in her arms, and having him gone left a kind of ache.  
  
He extended his arm to his mother in the yearly routine. She knew that he wanted to walk in these gardens and talk about his life. She took his arm and let him start leading.  
  
It was such an inviting place that he created, like a warmer version of his childhood home. She had always been a bit curious to see what else existed in this world, but there was never the time.  
  
Time ran faster here than it did in the waking world. Once the sun set on this world, Mexico would wake up. So, it was best to make use of the time.   
  
She said, “What is on your mind?”   
  
He took a deep breath and said, looking at her as he did, “I am giving aid to my brothers.” He paused for a moment and then clarified, “Dad’s sons. And I wanted to know what you thought of it.”  
  
Aztec could think of many things that she wanted to say immediately. But, she took a moment of pause. Maya’s other sons had been a point of contention, and she had never reconciled herself to the idea of them being in Mexico’s life.   
  
When they were born, she had rightly told Maya that they would be threats to her legitimate son. But, he had cherished the idea of his sons becoming friendly and supportive.  
  
In the years since, they had proven to be just as traitorous she initially feared. They had never been loyal to their older brother, and it had been difficult to see Mexico weather those betrayals.  
  
She said, “It is what your father would want. He always said you should all help each other.” She added to herself that it had always been an absurd idea. They had not been born to be close. Being brothers made them destined to be rivals.  
  
Mexico responded, “I know it is, but I want to know what you think.”  
  
The response made her smile; it was a reminder of just how clever he was. He was not asking for her to be kind to his father. Aztec stopped and pulled him to face her. Their eyes met and she was sure that she had his full attention.   
  
Then she said, “My dear son, you have a good honorable spirit.” She had seen him show his kindness over and over again, and it was such a source of pride. He was kinder than she had ever been able to be, and far more forgiving. In some ways, it was to his credit.  
  
She continued, “But, you need to be careful. Your forgiveness should be earned, not just given. I don’t think that you should forgive those who have not proved that they deserve it.”   
She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I do not want you to be hurt by them again.”  
  
He looked like he was listening carefully and waiting for her to finish talking. He nodded and said, “I understand. I am not forgiving them yet.”   
  
There was something jaded in his voice that she wished she could erase. It was a mother’s instinct to want to shield him from pain, even if she knew that the world would never be painless. It hurt her heart to see him hurt.   
  
But, if he would more cautious, then that was at least a good lesson. He needed caution with the frauds and traitors who seemed to surround him.  
  
But there had to be more to his life than just the political squabbles with his brothers. She asked, hoping to coax something lighter out of him, “I want to know if you are happy. Are you?”  
  
He looked like he was thinking hard about what he was going to say. It almost seemed like he was nervous. He was biting his lower lip as he thought. Finally, he said, “I think that I might be in love.”   
  
She reached up and brushed a piece of hair out of his face and said, “Is it a good one this time?”   
  
He knew that some of his past liaisons had been the worst kind of men, and she had voiced her disapproval loudly each time they spoke. She made sure that he knew that she never approved the men who used him, especially not the blonde one he had been infatuated with for so long.   
  
If she could have chosen him a partner, it would have been someone good and noble who could give him strength. He needed a source of stability and comfort, not another man to destabilize him.  
  
She really hoped that he had found someone to treat him the way he deserved. Mexico said, with complete earnestness in his eyes, “He is very good. He’s been there for me for so long.”  
  
There was a blush in his cheeks that made her realize how honest he was being with his feelings. Aztec felt like she knew who he was talking about.   
  
She had appreciated his closest friend since the day they met. Cuba was strong and so obviously devoted to her son. She could ask for nothing more.   
  
She said, “I know about him, and I think that he is good for you. He would keep you safe.”   
  
Mexico smiled, and it was clear that he had wanted her approval. The look of relief on his face was so clear. He had been worried that she would chastise him. But, it seemed that he was making a good decision.  
  
He took both of her hands in his own and said, “I wish you could meet him. You would love him.”  
She said, keeping her eyes on him so he could see her sincerity, “If he is good to you, then I trust him.”  
  
The light began to darken. Mexico glanced over his shoulder at the sky and saw that the sun was already starting to said. He said, more than to himself than to her, “No, it can’t be over already.”   
  
Aztec put her hands on either side of his face and gently turned it back towards herself. She ran her thumb comfortingly over his cheek and said, “Don’t worry, my cub. I will be back next year. You know I never miss it.”   
  
Mexico nodded slightly and then said, “I know, Mama. But, I wish we had more time with you.”  
She smiled reassuringly, “I am here with you even when you can’t see me.”  
  
She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. The sun was setting behind him, and she knew she needed to tell him one more thing before the night ended. She said, making sure to say everything he needed to hear, “I love you, and I’m proud of you. Happy birthday.”


	5. Brazil

**World Cup 2018  
**  
Mexico looked across the field as the final whistle sounded. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, beating like he hadn’t felt it beat in a very long time. He could feel his vocal chords aching from the way he had yelled since the thirty-fifth minute. He had only just composed himself enough for some semblance of professionalism. Everything told him to scream his triumph to the sky until his vocal chords failed.   
  
He could see Germany and Prussia across the field. The younger of the two was staring at the ground in absolute shock. Prussia looked like he had just swallowed poison and was waiting for it to kill him.   
  
Mexico would've smirked if the smile on his face didn’t feel permanent. He knew that those two had expected nothing from him, and written this off as a game they could win. That was their mistake, which Mexico was glad to have exposed it. The champions weren’t as unbeatable as they thought.  
  
Mexico could hear the deafening roar of his people in the stands, belting out their love for their homeland. They were singing for him, and he could feel it in his blood.   
  
It was traditional that the countries would meet in the middle of the field and shake hands after every game, regardless of the results. It was meant to foster good will.   
  
But, Mexico could already tell that this would not be a happy meeting. And he had no desire to make it such. There had been enough remarks disparaging him in the days leading up to this match, and he was glad to see them have to eat their words.   
  
He strode out across the grass, showing that he was ready for the tradition. Germany looked like he swallowed particularly painfully and then elbowed his brother, who looked completely malevolent. Traditions had to be kept, so Germany took the step as well.   
  
The sound around them did not abate as they finally came together in the middle of the field. At first, Germany looked right over Mexico’s head at the crowd. He looked shocked at how loud they were being.  
  
But, Germany remembered why he was there and looked back down at Mexico. Then, with the look of a man who was watching an execution, he extended his hand. He said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd, “Well done.”   
  
He was trying to be polite and Mexico appreciated that. The boy, at least, was well mannered. He must have gotten it from Austria, because it certainly did not come from Prussia. Mexico took his hand and shook it, and said in response, “Thank you.”   
  
Prussia was still glaring dangers at him, and Mexico turned to him next. He said, “So, you were boasting about ‘building the wall’ yesterday?”   
Prussia remained stubbornly silent, though his eyes spoke volumes. Mexico was in the kind of mood where he would not try to hide his smugness. He added, “Any regrets about that now?”  
  
He could see the angry flush creeping up the albino’s face, and that was satisfying in itself. Mexico extended his hand like he was really being civil. But, in this moment, he had no desire to pretend he wasn’t facing the man who had boasted loudly about how simple this game would be.   
  
Prussia said, “I don’t regret anything.” But, he still took Mexico’s hand, and his grip was strong, tense. Mexico smiled back, as charming as possible.   
  
But, as soon as Prussia released his hand, he said, “If you two will excuse me, I am going to go celebrate my victory.”  
  
He turned and walked back across the field. His mind was already on joining his people in their celebration. He looked forward to drinking and dancing and letting the world know what he had won. He would enjoy every minute of it and it did not matter what would come next. This was victory, all the victory he needed.  
  
Mexico walked back to his own room in the hotel, not entirely sober, but drunk more on nationalist fervor than on alcohol. It was intoxicating to remind himself of what really made him strong. The love that his people had for him was inspiring. He hadn’t wiped the smile off of his face since the end of the game.   
  
He flung himself down on the couch in the living room of the suite. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off a little, he could feel how tired his legs were from being on his feet and jumping. Letting himself rest a little would be good for now. He was still smiling though and he felt like he might never stop smiling.   
  
He had barely laid down when he heard little running footsteps. His chihuahua, the only one he had brought with him to Russia, came running into the room from the bedroom. Without slowing down, the dog launched himself at the couch, and landed, not entirely gracefully, on Mexico’s chest.   
  
Mexico smiled and picked up the little dog. He said, and felt the pain in his vocal chords as he spoke, “Your dad beat the world champion today.” In response, the dog licked his face and wagged his tail so aggressively that his whole body moved.   
  
Mexico brought the dog closer to his face and kissed him on top of his fluffy head before he said, “You’re so cute.”   
  
The door banged open, and Mexico glanced over to see who was barging into his room. He had not expected any company, but he would welcome anyone. Brazil came through the door, and immediately sat down in one of the chairs. Without offering an explanation, she started to unlace her shoes.  
  
Mexico said, slightly confused by her presence, “Isa, what are you doing here?”   
She looked up with a face that made it clear that she was repressing a laugh. She said, “What happened to your voice?”   
  
Mexico knew he sounded like he had throughly burned out his voice. He replied, his voice only sounding a little better, “I yelled too much.”   
Brazil raised one eyebrow. She said, still working on her shoes, “You yelled too much? You must have partied hard. You have always had a gift for being loud.”  
  
The innuendo in her voice was clear enough. Mexico said, “You didn’t answer my question.”   
She sighed and said, “I am avoiding Juan. I made fun of him for tying with Iceland yesterday. I just tied.”   
  
Mexico let out a short laugh. He found it so amusing that Brazil and Argentina always engaged in such a cutthroat rivalry during the world cup. He had no doubt Brazil had given Argentina hell for that tie. He said, “So, you assumed he wouldn’t be in my room?”   
  
She smirked as she finished kicking off her cleats and said, “You just got back. He hasn’t had time to seduce you.”   
Mexico sat up and placed his dog gently on the floor. He said, playing coy, “But I would like to be seduced.”   
  
Brazil reached up and took her hair out of its ponytail. It fell in black curls around her shoulders, and Mexico had the urge to run his hands through it. She said, “I’m the better choice.”   
  
She stood up and walked over to sit next to him on the couch. The look on her face left little doubt in Mexico’s mind that she hadn’t come to his room for conversation. He said, “So, do you want to kiss the man who beat Germany?”   
She leaned in and said, “Of course I do.”  
  
Mexico used one hand to push back one of her curls as he leaned in to join their lips. It was a light kiss, but it showed intention. When Mexico pulled back, Brazil said, putting her hand on his face, “I’m so proud of you, my prince. I only wish I had been there to see their faces.”  
  
Mexico replied, “Are you still feeling vengeful?” She smiled like a cat would when contemplating an injured bird, “I will make them pay when I play them.”   
  
She paused only long enough to join their lips again, more aggressively again. Then she said, “But, I am so happy you won.” Mexico gently pulled her closer, and guided her into yet another kiss.   
  
He wanted to take this moment to celebrate both his victory and the fact that America was far away, so he could be with the people he loved.   
  
Brazil pulled herself onto his lap, confidently straddling him and using her height advantage to take control of the kiss. Mexico let her dictate the intensity. He let his hands slowly run up her legs and eventually to her hips.   
  
She pulled back, and with a devilish look, pulled off her shirt and threw it across the room. Mexico said, between soft kisses on her neck and collarbone, “I’m not as good as you. You’re a goddess.”   
She entwined one hand in his hair as she said, almost breathlessly, “You know it.”   
  
Mexico chuckled as he kissed even lower, across the top of her breasts. He loved her confidence, and always had. But, he had been hoping to get a compliment in return. She whispered in his ear, “Let’s take this to the bed. I’ve been looking forward to this.”   
Mexico replied in a whisper, “Yes. Me too.”  
  
Brazil stood and Mexico followed, his hands never leaving her hips. Their lips met again. With each kiss, they were getting more intense, more lustful. They managed to get to the bed without releasing each other for more than a few moments.   
  
Mexico took off his shirt as she pulled him, firm but not forcefully, onto the bed. As they intertwined again, Mexico was convinced that a day of triumph was going to end in a night of bliss with one of the most beautiful, talented people he knew. He felt nothing but joy. He hoped he could hold onto this euphoria for the rest of the night at least.  
_____________________________

Mexico was asleep for once, and it was dreamless. His arm was wrapped around Brazil, who had been holding onto him as they both drifted off to sleep. They were both tangled in the sheets. The blankets were strewn haphazardly around them. Mexico’s chihuahua was curled up below his feet.  
  
Nothing interrupted the silent peace until, out of the blue, Mexico’s phone lit up in the dark and started to vibrate.   
  
For the first moment, nothing stirred, but then Mexico slowly turned his head and squinted angrily at it.   
  
He turned the display towards himself to see an unknown number calling. He could ignore it and go back to sleep, since he did not know the number. But, something told him that he should answer. So, he got out of bed and pulled on pants before he grabbed the phone and stepped out onto the balcony. The last thing he wanted was to wake Brazil with what was probably an unimportant phone call.   
  
Only once the door was closed behind him, did Mexico swipe to answer. He put it to his ear and heard the person on the other end say, “I wanted to congratulate you on your win. You played well.”  
  
Mexico knew the voice on the other end, though the person was trying to make his voice deeper. Mexico sighed and said, “Alfred, I know it’s you.”   
  
He heard the person on the other side trip over his words as he said, “How do you- No, it’s not.”   
Mexico rolled his eyes. Of course, America would pretend that he is so clever to hide his own voice. But, he wasn’t that clever.   
  
Mexico said, “You’re using your stupid secret agent voice.” He could almost imagine the face that Alfred was making. Maybe he had even put on sunglasses to make himself feel more secretive.   
  
America gave up the pretense and said, “I just wanted you to know that I’m proud of you.” Mexico felt an unbidden surge of affection that America had called just for that. But, he reminded himself that America was just using it as a way to get back into his life. America didn’t care, not really.   
  
Mexico took a deep breath and replied, “Do you understand why I blocked your number?”  
There were a few seconds of silence before America hesitantly said, “Because you were mad at me?”   
  
Mexico clenched and unclenched his free hand in an attempt to calm himself. Could America really think that it was just anger after everything he had said and done? The idea was more than enough to reignite Mexico’s ire. He responded, sharply, “Because I don’t want to talk to you.” He let out another sharp snort of breath before saying, “Whose phone are you using anyway?”  
  
The silence that followed only added to Mexico’s frustration. Until America finally said, “It’s a prepaid phone. I missed talking to you.”   
  
America was clearly trying so hard to sound charming, but Mexico could not let himself believe it. He said, “I don’t care if you’re lonely, Alfred. I only want to hear if you are sorry.”  
America said, this time quickly, “What am I supposed to be sorry for?”   
  
Mexico could feel his free hand clenched firmly into a fist. He hated when America did this. He was trying to make Mexico say it so he could make it sound like it was not a big deal. Mexico replied, “You know what.”   
America said, annoyingly patronizing, “You are making mountains out of molehills.”   
  
Mexico felt strangely vindicated to hear America say exactly what he was thinking. It was exactly what he had suspected. He said, “Don’t call me again for any reason until you are ready to reflect on your own behavior.” America didn’t answer, and Mexico didn’t care. He hung up the phone.   
  
Then he turned to see Brazil standing at the balcony door. She was wearing a loose robe, and he was momentarily taken aback by how beautiful she looked. She extended a hand to him and said, “Come here.”  
  
Exhausted from talking to America, he obeyed. Once he took her hand, she pulled him close. He put both of his hands on her waist. The closeness felt right.   
  
She said, stroking his cheek as she pushed back a piece of his hair, “Don’t worry about him. Come back to bed.” He nodded, not sure he was convinced that he shouldn’t worry. He had hoped to keep his problems far away.  
  
Brazil leaned down to kiss him on the lips lightly. That, at least, was nice. It would be enough for now, until he had to return and really deal with America again.   
He followed her back to bed, and let himself fall back asleep in her arms.  
  
—————————————-  
 **World Cup 2018  
**  
Mexico walked back to his own hotel room with a slight limp. He regretted not punching Korea for that cheap shot. He had been cordial at the end, and shook the other’s hand, even with the pain in his thigh. Now he wished he had at least said something sharp.   
  
He opened the door and let out a groan. He usually had a high pain tolerance, but the groan was born from annoyance more than pain. He was frustrated that he had let it happen, and not taken any retribution or vengeance. He walked inside and immediately sat on the couch.  
  
He hadn’t noticed that Brazil was sitting in one of the chairs with his dog in her lap. He had given her a key to his hotel room, since he enjoyed her company and was happier to not come back to an empty hotel room.   
  
She looked up as he walked in and said, after he had sat down, “You did well again. One more and you will go to the next round.” Mexico wished he could return her warm smile, but he was still focused on his own anger about the pain.  
  
He replied, wincing slightly, “That is easier said than done.”   
Brazil said, flirtatiously, “I’m good motivation. If you can win the group, you can avoid me for a little while.”  
  
He rolled up the leg of his shorts so that he could see the ugly purple on his skin. He let out a long breath through his teeth, attempting to calm himself. Brazil said, “That looks painful. I guess Korea hit you pretty hard.”   
  
Mexico looked up and said, “He’s lucky. If a man had hit me like that in any other context, I would have ended him.”   
  
She nodded sympathetically in response.   
  
Mexico’s dog squirmed out of her lap, jumped down, and ran across to where Mexico was sitting. Then, he stood expectantly in front of him.   
  
He knew that the dog was perfectly capable of jumping himself, and this was just a ploy to get affection. But, he wasn’t going to deny his darling any affection.   
  
Mexico reached down and pet the dog behind the ears, which elicited ecstatic tail wagging. Then he lifted the little dog into his lap, being careful to avoid the bruised part of his thigh.  
Brazil said, lifting her shirt, “Mine is still healing from Switzerland and Costa Rica.” There was a bruise across her ribs, which Mexico had seen already. But hers was almost gone, whereas the one on his thigh was still aching.  
  
He smiled back, as he scratched his chihuahua behind the ears, and said, “When did it become normal to hit your opponent?”   
She replied, with a confident smile that made his heart beat faster, “It’s the last defense of a desperate man. When they know they can’t win honestly, that is what they do.”   
  
She looked satisfied with the fact that she struck that much fear in the hearts of other countries. He couldn’t help but be proud that his success was having the same effect. None of Korea’s brutality could erase the fact that he had another victory, and good reason to hope that he could advance. Mexico said, smiling at Brazil, “It didn’t help Korea. I still won.”  
She replied, “And I’m proud of you.”   
  
Mexico looked down at his bruised leg and could already see the edges healing, and returning to their normal color. He thought, his relationship with immortality was complicated but healing quickly was certainly a perk.  
  
There was really no point in just watching it heal, so he looked back up at Brazil. He was constantly surprised by how beautiful she was, and never more so than when she was full of confidence. He said, leaning towards her, “Would you like to get dinner with me?”   
  
He could think of nothing more pleasant than going out and enjoying the time they had together. It would be nice to have the time together, even though he knew they might be pitted against each other in the near future. It was a chance to enjoy himself, on and off the field, and he intended to.   
  
Brazil replied with a nod, “I would.”   
  
Mexico didn’t care that the next day might bring more contention, this moment was good enough. He found himself still smiling as he went to shower, and he was certain that he was already glowing.  
  
————————————————-  
  
 **Modern  
**  
There was finally a break in the long, tedious world meeting and Brazil stepped out of the room. She was glad to get away from America grandstanding, and his unbearable sense of self entitlement. He had the most frustrating tendency to take up all the oxygen in the room, even though this was meant to be a world meeting.   
  
She undid the top button of her shirt, so that she did not have to be uncomfortable while she took her break.   
  
She stopped to take one of the sandwiches that had been provided for lunch. It did not look that appealing, but it was what was provided. It really was no surprise that America had not provided the best lunch.   
  
She found a quiet space and started eating without any real enthusiasm. Her thoughts were already very far away as she took a bite of the mediocre sandwich.   
  
She could not wait to escape this meeting and America’s annoying presence. Once she got home, she planned to take a long bath and then sit on her balcony with a book and enjoy some quiet. Politics was enough to cause her a bit of a headache.   
  
She looked out at the crowd of people, and realized that as she had let her thoughts wander, she had not yet noticed that Costa Rica had walked up to her and was watching her with a pensive smile. Once Costa Rica noticed that Brazil was looking at her, she said, “What are you thinking about? You looked very focused.”   
  
The look on her face was so cute and so invested. Brazil smiled back, and it felt like the first time she had smiled all day. She replied, “I was thinking about all the places I would rather be.”   
  
Costa Rica pushed her own glasses up her nose and said, “I was thinking about the same thing. I was thinking of this place at my home where I can stay in the rainforest. It’s a nice little cabin in the forest.”   
  
She didn’t seem to just be musing to herself. Brazil could hear that there was a playful undertone to what she was saying. A charming little spot in the rainforest did sound like an appealing away to get away from all of this political headache, and Costa Rica had a glowing smile as she talked about it which gave her a sense that it must be a nice place.  
  
Brazil said, “If you need company, I would be happy to go with you. I need some quiet, and that sounds like the perfect place.”   
Costa Rica nodded happily and said, “I do want company. In fact, I have already reserved a cabin for the two of us.”   
  
Her coyness made Brazil smile. It was sweet that she had already set up a nice retreat, and already knew she would agree to it. Knowing that Costa Rica had noticed her stress and was trying to remedy it made her feel better than she had all day.   
  
She replied, “In that case, we should absolutely go there as soon as this is over.”   
She gestured around at the world meeting, to make sure that it was clear what she was talking about. She added, “I have had more than enough stress already.”   
  
Without warning, Costa Rica reached up, standing on her toes to do so, and ran her thumb across Brazil’s cheek right next to her lips. She said, offering an explanation, “There was something on your face. I had to get it off.”  
  
Brazil chuckled, “Was there really?” She felt like this was just an excuse to touch her face, and she did not object to that. It had made her face feel warmer to be touched in a sweet way, and she was never going to complain about that.  
  
Costa Rica replied, touching the bridge of her glasses playfully, “I can see it. I have enhanced eyesight.” Brazil chuckled again and said, “I don’t think that is how it works, dear.” Costa Rica stood on her toes again and kissed Brazil on the cheek and said, “Trust me, I’m a scientist.” 


	6. Chile

**Modern  
**  
Chile was gathering the courage to talk to his ex-boyfriend again. He still felt so strongly towards him, and he was trying to figure out how to express it. They had so many scattered moments that gave him reason to believe there was still something between them.  
  
He had been able to tempt Argentina onto the dance floor a few times with the promise of still being his best dance partner. And the feeling when they danced close to each other hadn’t changed.   
  
He took a deep breath as the meeting ended. He knew what he needed to do, but he was not as certain that he would be able to do it once he was faced with it. Their breakup had been painful, and all he wanted was to be able to heal it. But, his words so often failed him when he tried to explain it to Argentina.   
  
He followed Argentina for a few minutes, and he didn’t manage to say anything until they were alone. He raised his voice and said, “Juan, I need to talk to you.”  
  
The sound of his voice was not as confident as he hoped, but it was enough to get Argentina to turn towards him. The look on his face was inscrutable, but at least it wasn’t anger.   
  
Argentina said, sounding terse, “I don’t want to fight with you today.” Chile stepped closer, raising both hands in supplication, and said, “I don’t want to fight. I just want to talk.”   
  
He got close enough that they could touch each other if they were to reach out. It was neutral enough, since they had been closer when they danced. The other man drew in a deep breath and said, “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
Chile took a calming breath, and said, “I miss you. I know I made so many mistakes, but I still l-“   
  
Before the word could leave his mouth, he felt Argentina’s hands firmly on his shoulders. The taller man whispered angrily, “Don’t you dare say that word. You won’t mean it this time either.”   
  
Chile could see his eyes so clearly now, and they were full of pain and anger. But, there was something else there. He knew that the familiar affection must still be there. Argentina drew him closer and added, “I will not let you say it.”   
  
Chile felt the most confusing mix of emotions. He would not allow himself to be told what to do, and he did not want to be denied his ability to express himself. But the way that Argentina had pulled him close had made his heart start racing, as it always did.   
  
His longing for his former partner was more than emotional, and he was very aware of the strong hands on his shoulders. He wanted them on his hips or his waist, holding him in any way that was more gentle.   
  
He tried to ignore the flush rising in his cheeks and said, “I am going to say it, and you can’t stop me.”   
Argentina leaned in closer and said, “I can think of a few ways to shut you up.”  
  
It sounded like a threat, and Chile was unmoved. Argentina did not look angry enough to strike him. He replied, “Do your worst, I will still-“  
  
Before he could finish his sentence, Argentina put his lips to his neck and ran his tongue over a particularly sensitive spot. Chile felt a shiver of pleasure shoot down his spine. The words that he had on his tongue vanished into a moan.   
  
While his lips were parted, Argentina took a hold of his jaw with one hand. His grip was firm, but not painful. He tilted Chile’s head up and joined their lips.   
  
Chile had no idea how this was happening, but he wasn’t going to question it. He had missed this feeling of close, intimate contact. He hadn’t been with anyone like this after their breakup, and he could feel the lust so clearly now. The carefully constructed conversation he had planned vanished from his mind. All of his blood was rushing south, and he felt like he couldn’t think.   
  
He hadn’t realized how much he needed this touch until now. His mouth opened obligingly to let Argentina’s tongue into his mouth.   
  
But, Argentina pulled back. Chile heard himself whimper before he realized how undignified it was.   
  
Like an old habit, Argentina put his arm around Chile’s waist and held him close. Now that he could see Argentina’s face clearly, Chile saw how flushed he was too. He looked just as excited.   
  
Argentina spoke, sounding like he was struggling to contain himself, “I don’t want to talk. I want you.”  
  
His thumb stroked Chile’s cheek in a way that made Chile’s knees feel weak. Argentina continued, “No one feels like you.”   
  
Chile caught his breath enough to say, “What do you want to do to me?” He knew the likely answer, but he wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear it in Argentina’s melodious voice, with that rough edge of need. It would turn him to jelly.   
  
Argentina said, his hand still holding so firmly onto Chile’s face, “I want to pin you down, and fuck you until you can only tremble and moan.”   
  
Chile shuddered in anticipation. He could remember how that felt, how perfectly they fit together. He could clearly remember how it felt to have Argentina inside of him. Argentina added, “You know I know how to do it. You remember.”   
  
He pulled Chile flush against him. He then kissed Chile’s neck again. At the same time, he pressed one leg between Chile’s, applying even more pressure to his arousal. The closeness and the kiss was enough to make a moan pass Chile’s lips.   
  
Then, he remembered that they were not really alone. Anyone could see them. He said, breathlessly, “We need to go somewhere private.” Argentina nodded, and then took his hand and led him out towards his car.  
_________________  
  
Chile was laying across Argentina’s bare chest, exhausted but satisfied. He felt happy to be back in this bed with Argentina.   
  
His body was tired, and his lower body was pleasantly sore. He had not asked his partner to be gentle, and he felt the effects of it. The pain was subtle, and would be gone in the morning.  
A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that he was supposed to be having a conversation with Argentina. But, his vocal cords were in no fit state to say anything now.  
  
His throat hurt, but he did not mind. They could have a conversation in the morning, when Argentina would certainly be in a better mood.   
  
He looked up at Argentina’s sleeping face, and felt a surge of affection. He was still the same man, no matter how much he tried to be angry. He was still so handsome and sweeter than he pretended.  
  
Chile said, his voice sounding hoarse, “I love you.”   
  
Argentina sleepily put a hand on his head, and stroked his hair. He muttered, quietly enough that Chile had to strain to hear him, “Love you, too.” 


	7. Colombia

**Modern  
**  
Colombia was already bored. He had never liked world meetings; they bored him when they were talking about little things, and when they talked about tragic things, it weighed on him all day.   
  
On top of that, depending on the organization, he might sit near Mexico. He was not prepared to sit next to the man who he occasionally had sex with and nothing more. Sitting together would require conversations that he was in no mood to have.   
  
Everyone thought he was a fool for his feelings for Mexico. But, he knew it wasn’t so simple. An addict could know how unhealthy their drug of choice was but still find themselves going back to it. He hated that it felt good in the moment to choose Mexico, but that didn’t stop him. He did not want to sit next to that temptation. He did not like world meetings at all.  
  
As he stared at the other seats, he was already hoping that this would be over soon. He was so busy thinking about how he would rather be anywhere but here that he did not notice when Peru sat next to him until the other man started speaking, “Good morning. You know, I ran into this little fruit stand and it smelled so nice that I couldn’t help but buy some.”   
  
Colombia turned to look at him. Now that it was brought to his attention, he could smell the aroma of freshly cut mango. He had already had his usual breakfast, but the idea of fresh fruit was so tempting. It was a little pleasure of his when he was home to find the best fruit.   
  
Peru continued, “And I thought that if I enjoy this, then I have to buy some for you.”   
  
With that, he placed a container of fruit on the table in front of Colombia. He slowly realized that this was for him. He had thought that this had just been small talk, not a serious offer. He had to question it, because he had expected nothing kind from anyone today. He said, “You mean this is for me?”   
  
Peru pushed the fruit closer to him and said, “Yes, it is.” Colombia looked down at it and paused for only a moment before deciding to pick up a piece of pink fruit with his fingers. He put it in his mouth and the taste made him smile. He so enjoyed the light, sweet, refreshing taste of something so fresh.   
  
He said, “Mmmm….Guava is my favorite.” He caught Peru’s eye and hoped he understood how grateful he was.   
Peru said, “Oh? It’s your favorite food? I have no idea. What a coincidence that I would find some on the way here.”   
  
In case his tone was not enough to solidify his intention, he added a wink that looked like it did not come easily to him. He was so cute when he was trying to act smooth, but somehow failed and just came across as genuine. It was like he read a book about how to be charming, but always came back to his own compassion.  
  
Colombia picked up a piece of mango and before he put it into his mouth, he said, “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”   
Peru’s eyes were so soft and sweet as he said, “I didn’t have to, but you don’t like being here. So, I thought you could use something nice.”   
  
Colombia sucked the juice from the piece of mango from his fingers. He could not imagine what he had done to deserve the kind of friend who would get him one of his favorite things on a whim. It was so sweet and he couldn’t help but smile at how wonderfully supportive Peru was. He said, “You’ve made my day better already.”   
  
Peru inched his hand towards his, and Colombia’s heart skipped a beat when he thought that they might hold hands. It could be so nice.   
  
As Peru met his eyes, Panama pulled out the chair on his other side loudly. Panama said, “Good morning. You’re early. Oh, fruit!”   
  
Panama leaned over and took one of the pieces of mango. Colombia turned to him sharply and reproached, “Hey! That’s mine!”   
  
Panama’s eyes flitted from his brother’s offended face to Peru. He said, his mouth still full of mango, “What? Was I interrupting something?”


	8. Cuba

**Late 16th Century  
**  
Cuba rolled over to see New Spain stealthily getting out of bed. The little boy was sneaking over to his chest of drawers where he kept his clothing. He watched and slowly rubbed his eyes as he watched New Spain pull on enough clothing to keep himself warm.   
  
Cuba glanced at the window to see if he had mistaken the hour. It was definitely still dark out. There was nowhere that a little boy like New Spain could be going in the middle of the night. He whispered, “Where are you going? It’s late.”   
  
New Spain looked over at him and flashed him a mischievous smile. He pressed his finger to his lips and said, “Shhh…I’ll be right back.”   
Cuba was not happy with the answer and repeated more insistently, “But where are you going?”   
  
Before he could get a satisfactory answer, New Spain slipped quietly out of the door. Cuba was forced to sit in his bed and hope that his friend would come back soon and not get caught doing whatever he was doing.   
  
He stared out of the window, and noticed that there was snow drifting down. It was a very pleasant winter night, and he hoped that it would be able to stay that way.   
  
He thought that maybe he should have gone with New Spain, just to make sure that his friend was not getting himself in trouble. He was older and should have been more responsible. But, he couldn’t change that now. He wouldn’t even know where to look if he were to follow New Spain.   
  
After several quiet minutes, he heard the quiet noise of little feet outside the door. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. If New Spain was back now, then he could be sure that he would not get in trouble.   
  
He watched as the boy’s head poke back into the room, with an even wider smile that spoke of mischief. Cuba said, “Get back here and tell me what you were doing!”   
New Spain nodded and walked over to Cuba’s bed. He said, “No one saw me. Don’t worry.”  
  
Cuba did not find that particularly reassuring. But, as New Spain squeezed in beside him, he found it impossible to be mad.  
  
Then, New Spain produced a linen napkin from inside the shirt. When he unfolded it, he revealed little squares of marzipan as well as pieces of candied fruit. Cuba gasped and said, “Where did you get those? It isn’t Christmas yet.”   
  
Sweets were usually given out sparingly, and only on holidays. Spain said that temperance was good for the soul. It may be winter, but Christmas was still at least a month away.   
  
New Spain smiled again and said, “Tony told me that he was having a party. I knew there would be leftover sweets in the kitchen, and I know you like marzipan.”  
  
Cuba had a sweet tooth, and his best friend knew it well. He took one of the squares of marzipan and put it in his mouth. It had such a lovely flavor of almonds.  
He said, the sweet paste still sticking to his teeth, “Thank you. You’re so clever.”  
  
New Spain took one of the candied fruits, his own personal favorite, and put it in his mouth. As he sucked the sugar from his fingers, New Spain said, “Are you happy?”   
  
His wide eyes were fixed on Cuba like he was looking for approval. Cuba laughed at how seriously his little friend seemed to be taking a few pieces of marzipan and fruit. He replied, “Yes, I’m very happy.”   
  
The broadest, happiest smile broke across New Spain’s face.   
  
————————————————-  
  
 **Early 17th Century  
**  
New Spain felt like he had just escaped as he walked down the hall. He had told Spain that he needed to return because his roommate would be worried about him and there would be gossip. It had been an excuse, but it was enough to get Spain to let him go of him.   
  
He could still taste Spain’s tongue in his mouth and it made him want to gag. Since the first time they had kissed, it seemed that he could not avoid the older man wanting to touch him and stealing moments to kiss him. It felt like Spain was only a few minutes from insisting that they go to bed together, and New Spain was petrified at the prospect.   
  
New Spain balled his hands into fists, trying to disguise the fact that they were shaking. He felt like he might cry as he thought about the way Spain had been touching him.   
  
He had no idea how late it was, but the sky outside of the windows was inky black. It must have been later than he realized.   
  
He placed his hand on the door handle and pushed it open. He wanted to finally get back to his room and be safe.   
  
Opening the door let a sliver of light into the room, and Cuba stirred in the other bed. He sat up and looked blearily at New Spain. The fact that he had woken Cuba made him feel a bit more guilty. He had been trying to be quiet and unobtrusive.   
  
Cuba said, sleepily, “Do you know how late it is?” New Spain nodded and said, “I know. I’m sorry that I woke you.”   
Cuba sighed and asked, “Were you with him?”   
  
New Spain felt a cold chill race down his spine at the question. Was Spain’s new infatuation so obvious? He had tried not to show anything around the other colonies. He knew he could not answer the question honestly. Spain had already made it clear that he would get rid of anyone who got in the way. If Cuba knew the truth, then he would definitely react and Spain would do something to him.   
  
New Spain realized he was standing stock still in the doorway, terrified of saying the wrong thing. He tried to find words to lie, and only managed, “What do you mean?”   
  
Cuba groaned and laid back down. He said, sounding frustrated, “You know what I’m talking about. The whole court knows. I thought you would at least tell me. so I don’t look like an idiot when I say that you aren’t like that.”   
  
Then he turned on his side and seemed to try to go back to sleep.  
  
New Spain felt his heart drop. It couldn’t be that everyone already knew, when it felt like a secret shame to him. He felt like he was hardly feeling his limbs as he walked over to his own bed and sat down. He couldn’t imagine what as already being said about him.  
  
He felt all of the feelings he was trying to repress coming up at once. Even his best friend believed that he was having an affair with Spain, and the feeling of betrayal stung. The tears he had been holding back started rolling down his cheeks.   
  
He let out a sob and realized a moment too late that he should be stifling the sound. Cuba turned back to look at him, and said, “Ale?”   
  
New Spain couldn’t summon another lie. Before he could say anything else, Cuba got out of bed and came over to him. He sat next to him on his bed and put one arm around him.  
Cuba said, now seemingly awake, “I’m sorry. That was too harsh. If you are happy with Antonio, then I’m not mad. I just wanted you to tell me.”   
  
Now that New Spain had let himself start crying, he could not get himself to stop. He managed to get out between sobs, “I am scared.”   
  
Cuba’s eyes widened. He said, “What are you scared of Ale?” New Spain looked at him, and realized that he couldn’t possibly say more or else he would risk losing his friend.   
  
Cuba asked, sounding even more worried, “Are you scared of him?”  
  
New Spain shook his head and replied, “I can’t tell you.” Cuba looked pained, but he nodded and hugged New Spain closer.  
  
——————————  
  
 **1920s**  
Cuba was sleeping on a bed in one of Mexico’s spare rooms. He was sleeping very uneasily. He found it hard to close his eyes when he knew that he would immediately be filled with anxiety about his friend as soon as he did.   
  
It had only been a short time since Mexico had returned to the capital, and his mental state was only slowly recovering. Stopping the fighting, drinking and reckless sex had been an important step, but it had failed to cure everything that was wrong with him. The pain ran so much deeper, and Cuba couldn’t help but worry about what demons Mexico was fighting in his own head.  
  
Cuba could feel his own exhaustion dueling with his desire to stay up another night and watch over Mexico. As he laid with his eyes closed in an imitation of sleep, he tried to decide what to do.  
  
In the silence, he could make out the sound of soft footfalls in the hallway, followed by the jingling of the tags of a dog.   
  
His eyes shot open. Mexico was awake and trying to sneak around. It was just the presence of his faithful pets that had given him away. There could be no good reason that Mexico was walking through the house in secret.   
  
Cuba quietly got out of bed and followed the sound of footsteps. He eventually found Mexico in the kitchen opening a cabinet gently so it wouldn’t make a noise. He pushed the contents of the cabinet one way and then the other, like he was searching for something. Cuba was pretty sure he knew what he was looking for.   
  
He said, “Ale, why are you up?”   
Mexico’s shoulders fell as he realized that he was not alone. He turned so that they were facing each other and he said, “There used to be a bottle of tequila right here.”   
  
He pointed to the spot where he had been looking. Cuba sighed and replied, “I know. I got rid of it.” He had known that Mexico would have trouble being sober, and it had seemed logical to him to get rid of the temptations. It had been a bottle of expensive tequila, but he had not felt bad about throwing it away.   
  
Mexico said, looking like he wanted to be angry but didn’t have the emotion for it, “Why? It was my tequila.”   
Cuba looked at him as sternly as he could and said, “You are supposed to be recovering.”   
Mexico’s eyes were full of pain as he said, “Screw recovery. I want a drink.”   
  
Cuba took a deep breath to calm himself and then took a step towards his friend. He said, “Tell me what is on your mind. It will feel better if you talk about it.”   
  
Mexico’s defensive demeanor fell as a spasm of pain passed across his face. He said, like he was still trying to hold himself together, “I was thinking about Max”   
  
His facade cracked as tears started forming in his eyes. Cuba closed the distance between them and pulled Mexico into a hug. He already knew what the second emperor meant to Mexico, and how painful the thought of him must still be.  
  
He felt the smaller man return the hug and start to shake. Mexico said, his head against Cuba’s shoulder, “He died because of me. I loved him and I couldn’t save him.”  
  
Cuba said, rubbing his back comfortingly, “You did everything you could. You can’t blame yourself.”  
He could feel moisture on his shoulder and he knew that Mexico was crying.   
Mexico pulled in sharp breaths and said, his voice shaking, “I still miss him so much. I can’t be sober on the anniversary of when he....”   
  
Mexico trailed off into sobs, and Cuba hugged him closer. Cuba said, “You are strong enough for that day. I promise you that you are. Let me take you back to bed.”   
  
—————————————  
  
 **1960  
**  
Mexico heard the phone ringing from the other room, and guessed that the call was from America. That knowledge made him walk slowly, half hoping that he would miss the call.   
  
Since their last fight, he had been in no mood to talk to America. Once he was closer, he heard someone else pick up the phone. There was a pause and then a voice said, “It’s a call from Havana.”  
  
Mexico took the few remaining steps quickly. He knew now that he gladly wanted to take the call. He took the phone in hand and said brightly, “Carlos! How are you?”   
  
He wound the curled cord of the phone around his finger. There was not enough room for him to make it all the way to one of his many couches and chaises, so he leaned against the desk. It was not as comfortable as he would like, but there was not a better option. He made a mental note to move the phone.  
  
Cuba spoke on the other end of the line, “I want to see you. You should come see my home now. Everything has calmed down since the Revolution.”   
  
Mexico smiled at the warmth that he could hear in his friend’s voice. It was so much sweeter than how he had sounded before the revolution. It made him feel like every decision he had made to help his friend escape America’s yoke had been the right one.   
  
He smiled to himself. He would like to see how life was settling down for his friend. He replied, in a tone that made sure that Cuba would know he was not serious, “Alfred says I’m not supposed to be associating with communists.”  
  
The response came in a playful tone that mirrored his own, “Since when do you listen to what he says?”   
  
Mexico laughed to himself. He had already made himself the promise that he would not let America dictate what he did. They had patched their relationship back together during the second world war, but his autonomy and his friendship came first. He could also not be bothered to care about the ongoing contest between America and the Soviet Union. It seemed to him that it was a facade for them to continue their own imperialist ambitions.   
  
America had given Mexico a long lecture on why he should not associate with Cuba. Mexico replied, “If he wants to throw a fit, then I will tell him that you’re more important than him anyway. Keeping us apart doesn’t prove his dick is bigger than Ivan’s anyway.”   
  
Cuba responded, still sounding quite happy, “Thank you, Ale. I miss sleeping with you.”   
  
Mexico looped the cord of the phone. He said, “I miss you too, Carlos.”  
  
He meant every word of it. He felt like he had been away from Cuba far too long. There was a long pause and then Cuba said, his tone more serious, “Thank you for not abandoning me, Ale. You’re very important to me.”  
  
Mexico took a deep breath and said, completely earnestly, “I wouldn’t choose anyone in the world over you. Not Alfred, not anybody.”  
  
There was a short silence and Cuba added, “And I don’t know for sure, but I think Ivan’s dick is bigger.”  
  
Mexico chuckled, "You would say that."  
  
———————————-  
  
 **1960  
**  
Mexico woke from a nightmare with a jerk. As he looked around the room, he slowly remembered that he was visiting Cuba and the unfamiliar room belonged to his best friend.   
He took a deep breath and leaned back against Cuba’s chest, and tried to calm himself. It was such an old memory and such an old nightmare.  
  
He heard Cuba’s breathing change and he sighed to himself. His moving had disturbed his friend. Cuba said, sleepily, “You say the scariest stuff in your sleep.”   
Mexico sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”   
  
He felt Cuba’s hand on his hair, gently stroking it. It was a gesture of comfort that he remembered it well. He leaned against Cuba’s hand. Cuba said, “What was the nightmare about?”   
  
Mexico shook his head. He didn’t want to admit what exactly the dream was about. He could already imagine what Cuba would say once he knew what was bothering him. He chose to say, “It isn’t important.”   
  
He didn’t want to have that conversation quite yet. Cuba sighed and responded, “I know it was about Alfred. I heard his name.”   
  
Mexico chewed on his lower lip as he tried to think of what to say. The truth was that it had been about the years before the Revolution, and the strain that America had put him through. He took a deep breath and said, “It was about him.”   
  
He felt Cuba put his arm around him protectively. Cuba said, “You told me that he had stopped having nightmares about him.”  
  
Mexico took another deep breath and tried to think of a way to explain it. He hadn’t been lying, but the nightmares had only abated for a little while. He decided it was best to say, “They did stop for a while. Alfred was being so much better.”  
  
He meant to continue his explanation. But, Cuba said sharply, “What happened?”  
  
Mexico could swear that his hold was getting even more protective. He didn’t mind; he knew what kind of loyalty came with it. He said, “We had a fight over me refusing to cut you off. I don’t know if he has really gotten better.”  
  
He said the words and they already tasted bitter. He had really believed that the “hero” had learned the pain he might cause with the way he acted. Certainly, during the war America had seemed quite contrite about his mistakes. But, all the anger over Mexico’s loyalty to Cuba had reminded too strongly of the earlier America, the one who wouldn’t let him have his own government. The memories had come back in the form of nightmares again. It felt painful to admit it to Cuba.   
  
But, he was surprised when Cuba put a hand on his face, and said gently, “ I’m so sorry you went through that for me.” He gently turned Mexico so their eyes met. Mexico said, “You are going to tell me to leave him?”   
  
He expected that to be the response, and he had heard it many times before. He could see the answer that Cuba wanted to say, but instead he got, “I never wanted you to go back to him. But-“   
  
He paused for a moment and drew in a deep breath that Mexico could feel in his moving chest beneath him. Then Cuba finally said, “I understand that the world isn’t that simple right now. Alfred sees any disagreement as a threat, and I know it as well as anyone.”   
  
He brushed back a piece of Mexico’s hair. He looked like he was thinking about something important, and Mexico didn’t want to interrupt. But, he had to say something hen Cuba was being so vulnerable. He said, reaching for his friend’s face, “No matter what games Alfred plays with power, I’ll be here for you.”  
  
Cuba found the right words and said, “If you could leave him and be safe, I would want that more than anything.”  
  
He took the hand that Mexico was reaching with and kissed the fingers. Mexico felt an unbidden twinge of guilt. He had chosen to be romantically involved with America, even when he knew how it might go.   
  
Cuba spoke again, “I didn’t know if I would mention this to you, but Ivan wants to speak to you. If you aren’t comfortable, I will tell him no.”   
  
Mexico thought on this for a moment. He only thought slightly more of the Soviet Union than he did of America, and that had only been earned by helping Cuba. But, a conversation was no commitment, and perhaps it was a good idea to speak to the other side. If it could be hidden from America, there was no danger. He replied, “You can tell Ivan that I will talk to him, but don’t promise him anything else.”   
  
——————————  
  
 **The Cold War  
**  
Cuba was laying in bed after a long day of work. It had been hard work playing Russia’s agent in North America, even if it was fulfilling. He had no personal problem with working to undermine America, but the days left him drained.   
  
He had a book on his lap and was trying to read it without falling asleep. The pillows behind his back were calling to him. His eyes were slowly refusing to stay open.  
  
His concentration was broken by the sound of a phone ringing in the other room. He could get up and answer it, but the energy was hard to muster. If it was something important, there would be a second call and he would answer it then. He let the ringing continue until it stopped.   
  
Then, he turned back to his book and tried to focus on it. He suspected that he was going to remember nothing the next day. He heard a door open and then close. That was enough to force him to get up. He sighed and closed the book.  
  
He looked up to see Mexico leaning against the door frame of his bedroom. Cuba said, shocked to see his friend, “What are you doing here?”   
  
Mexico replied, not moving yet, “I needed company. I called.” Cuba let out a sigh as he realized that he had missed that call. He said, “I am sorry, Ale. Good thing you have a key.”   
  
Mexico nodded and smiled in a slightly lopsided way. He pushed himself off of the the door frame and the way that he wobbled told Cuba that he was drunk. That made his heart drop. It was never a good sign when Mexico relapsed into heavy drinking.   
  
He flopped onto the bed next to Cuba. It was not unusual for him, even when he was sober. Mexico then pushed the book off of Cuba’s lap and settled himself in the spot. For a moment, he absurdly resembled a cat pushing things off a shelf.   
  
Cuba said, as Mexico cuddled up against him, “Why do you need company? Did something happen?”   
Mexico’s eyes were closed and he slurred his words as he said, “I want to go to sleep but I can't find any sheep. So, I decided that I would rather have a big cuddly teddy bear.”   
  
He nuzzled against Cuba’s chest and smiled. Cuba felt like this was an attempted dodge. Mexico never got this drunk casually. Something must have happened for him to want to be drunk and not alone.   
  
He said again, “What happened?”   
Mexico sighed and didn’t open his eyes as he said, “I had a fight with Alfred. He said that if I love him, I wouldn’t talk to you. I told him to go fuck himself.”   
  
Cuba pulled a blanket over Mexico’s shoulders. His heart ached for his friend. America could be so cunning and manipulative, and Mexico tended to withdraw into himself when they clashed. He wished he could be more than a soft place for Mexico to land.   
  
He brushed Mexico’s hair with his hand and said, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to fight with him for me.”   
Mexico replied quickly, “Yes, I do.”   
  
Cuba wrapped his arms around Mexico and kissed him on the forehead. The smaller man smiled contentedly and snuggled closer to Cuba’s chest.   
  
——————————-  
  
 **The Cold War  
**  
Mexico stepped out into the cold of a mid December day in New York and regretted it almost immediately. It was so cold, and he did not want to be subjected to this weather.  
  
Why couldn’t Alfred put the headquarters of the UN in one of his warmer cities? Why did he force anyone to come here when it was so cold? Mexico’s tropical heart reacted very badly to this kind of cold.  
  
He shoved his ungloved hands into the pockets of his coat, trying to protect his flesh from the brutal cold. There were small flakes of snow were floating down softly. He let out a breath and it turned into fog in the cold air.   
  
A voice spoke behind him, “You look cold.”   
  
He knew the voice and turned around with a smile one his face. Cuba was standing behind him, wearing a thick coat. He looked very warm, certainly warmer than Mexico felt. Mexico said, “I am cold. But I’m happy to see you.”  
  
Cuba walked closer with a look on his face that Mexico might think was shyness. He said, “Remember when you first saw snow? You thought the sky was falling.”  
  
Mexico felt himself flush a little at the old memory, but it was a pleasant feeling. He replied, “Are you just here to tease me?”  
  
Cuba shook his head, and Mexico noticed the way the snow clung to his dark hair. He said, “I wanted to give you something, since it is almost Christmas.”   
  
He pulled a small package out of the pocket of his jacket. It was neatly wrapped in paper and tied with a ribbon. Mexico thought it looked adorable, like Cuba had taken painstaking time to wrap it.   
  
Mexico said, “Can I ask what it is?”   
  
The other man chuckled. There was a wonderful warmth in his face when he laughed that made Mexico feel less cold. Cuba said, “It’s just chocolates and candied oranges. I know they are your favorites.”   
  
The thought was touching. Mexico was surprised that Cuba still remembered his childhood favorite after all of these years. Cuba continued, “I am sorry I couldn’t get you more.”   
Mexico reached out and took the package. He said, “You don’t have to. This is more than enough.”   
  
He noticed that Cuba was looking at his hands. Cuba said, “Your poor hands!”  
  
He pulled off his own gloves and put his hands on top of Mexico’s. They were pleasantly warm. Mexico said, “Your hands are so warm.”   
Cuba replied, “I am a natural furnace.”   
  
Mexico felt like he was obliged as his best friend to make a joke about him being hot.   
  
But, before he could, America cut in, “Get away from my boyfriend, commie!”   
  
Cuba recoiled and his hand slipped off of Mexico’s. He glanced at Mexico. He seemed to be weighing the options. Mexico said quietly, “You should probably go.”   
  
Cuba nodded and walked away.   
  
America immediately turned his attention to Mexico, “Why were you talking to him?” Mexico put the present in his pocket before he responded.   
Then he said, calmly, “He is my friend.”   
  
America scoffed, “He thinks that I am the devil.” Mexico shoved his hands back into his pockets, trying to retain the heat from Cuba’s hands.   
He said, “I’m sure you proved him wrong with that outburst.”   
  
America let out an angry breath through his nose, which was obvious in the cold. He said, “What was he talking to you about anyway? The glory of Marxism?”   
  
Mexico replied, trying not to say that America was being completely irrational, “He wished me a marry Christmas and gave me sweets.” Privately, Mexico thought America’s competition with the Soviet Union was making him paranoid.  
  
America said, with the air of a man saying something obvious, “He was flirting with you.” This was a tediously familiar accusation that seemed to come with anything Cuba did.   
  
Mexico shook his head, “No, he was being a good friend.”  
  
America repeated, as if making a point, “He was flirting with you.”   
Then, without waiting for a response, he added, “Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”  
  
—————————————  
  
 **Modern  
**  
Mexico awoke to the feeling of little paws on his back. He refused to open his eyes, because if he did he would also have to admit that he was awake and that he had to take care of the owner of the paws. The dog, not believing he was still asleep, padded up to his shoulder and started to lick his ear.   
  
He groaned and opened his eyes and looked up at his dog. The tiny animal looked like it was feigning innocence. Then he gave Mexico another lick on the side of the face. Mexico sighed and said softly, “Alright, little one, you can be here.”   
  
He picked up the dog, who was already vibrating with excitement and settled the tiny animal in his arms between himself and Cuba.   
  
The other man was still asleep and snoring lightly. Mexico thought it was adorable that Cuba snored like a purring cat. As his chest moved, the soft sound continued to rumble with each movement. It was such a good, soothing noise.  
  
Cuba’s arms were securely around Mexico and holding him. There was just enough room for Mexico to hold his dog between their two bodies. It was warm and comfortable and Mexico slowly closed his eyes again.  
  
It was such a small moment, but being held by his best friend and cuddled against his dog was very pleasant.   
  
After a few quiet moments, Mexico could feel Cuba starting to stir. He felt Cuba move one of his arms off of his waist. His first thought was to tell Cuba to put it back. He didn’t want the contact gone.  
  
Cuba scratched the dog behind the ear with his newly free hand and said, “When did you get here?”  
  
The dog wiggled happily in response to the scratching, and Mexico felt like he might slip from his arms. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at Cuba, who was looking down at the dog.   
But, he then looked up at Mexico and gave him the warmest smile. He was still half asleep and he said, sleep still in his voice, “It looks like we have an intruder.”   
  
He gave the dog one more pet with his big hand. Mexico responded, “We are lucky that it is only one.”   
He added, speaking to the dog, “You didn’t feel like bringing your brothers with you?”  
  
He didn’t expect any answer, but he did get another look of innocence. Cuba said, “How long before they all are here?”  
  
Mexico laughed. He was already surprised that it was only one of his many dogs. The only way to avoid more uninvited company was to make sure they couldn’t get into the room. He offered, “I can close the door. I’ll just have to get up.”   
  
He started to move, but Cuba said, “Don’t leave. I love cuddling you first thing in the morning. If you get up, it will ruin the moment.”   
  
Mexico looked in his eyes and saw how earnest he was. He could not possibly disagree with the sentiment. This was his favorite moment of the day too.   
  
He nestled against Cuba’s chest, being careful not to squish the dog between them. He would feel guilty if he had hurt one of his dogs.   
  
The dog between them managed to shake happily and lick Mexico’s face and then Cuba’s, so Mexico assumed that he was comfortable.   
  
Mexico said, “We’re going to have so much company soon.”   
Cuba kissed him on the forehead and said, “I think there is enough room for all of us.”  
  
————————————  
  
 **Modern  
**  
Cuba opened the door to his car, and carefully helped Mexico inside. He was sober, but Mexico had too much to drink. He was giving Mexico a steady hand to make sure he didn’t trip.  
it was difficult to limit him, since he could get drinks easily as soon as Cuba turned his back. It was frustrating that he could be so determined and stubborn when he wanted to be. He had always had such a thick skull and such a strong urge to self destruct. Cuba had seen him in a worse state, but he was still glad that he was able to intercede when he did.  
  
Cuba had made an effort to make sure that Mexico did not end up near anyone who might try to exploit him. He felt a bit like a bodyguard, but it was not a burden to do it for Mexico.   
He got into the driver’s seat and turned to Mexico. The man was looking at him with a small smile. Cuba smiled back at him and said, “Do you want to drive to the beach and watch the sunrise.”   
Mexico replied, leaning back in the seat, “I would like that.”  
  
Cuba started the car and pulled out, taking a moment to glance at Mexico only once he was sure that he wouldn’t hit anything if he looked away from the road.   
  
Mexico had taken his hair out of the low ponytail he usually wore it in and was running his hands It looked like he was enjoying the feeling.  
  
Cuba turned his eyes back to the road. He would love to watch the other man, but he had to be careful. It was a short drive, and it didn’t take long for them to arrive. Once he was safely parked, Cuba looked back at Mexico.   
  
Mexico had taken his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through it. He was biting his lower lip and one of his eyebrows was slightly raised. Cuba knew that look; it was the look of trouble.He knew that Mexico had gotten some idea in his head that he would regret in the morning.   
  
He said, “What are you doing?” Mexico said, not yet looking up from his phone, “I should call Alfred.”   
  
Cuba clenched his teeth. He had expected a bad idea, but he had not expected such a terrible idea. Mexico had done well with keeping his distance from his ex-boyfriend so far, and Cuba had hoped that it would stay that way.   
  
He said, trying to talk sense into his drunk friend, “You have him blocked.”   
  
Mexico looked up at him, and his thumb paused on his phone screen. He said, “I could unblock him. It isn’t that hard.”   
  
Cuba’s hands tightened on the wheel as he tried not to overreact. He said, “You are not going to give him another chance.”   
  
Mexico ran one hand over his face and said, “I’m not going to. I was just thinking that I should have a conversation with him about why I ended things.”  
  
Cuba turned to him and responded, “You don’t need to have one. He is just going to try to manipulate you into listening to him.”   
  
Mexico fell silent and looked from his phone to Cuba and back again. Slowly, he said, “But, Carlos-“   
Cuba cut him off and said, “If you call Alfred, I will throw your phone in the ocean.”   
  
Mexico looked at him with wide eyes. Then, like a chastised child, he shook his head. He said, “My head isn’t clear right now.”   
  
Cuba could have told him that based on the fact that he even thought about Alfred. But he would not say that to a drunk man.  
  
He extended his hand to Mexico and said, “Why don’t you give me the phone? I will give it back to you when you are sober.”   
  
Mexico nodded and put the phone in Cuba’s hand. Cuba took the phone and put it in his pocket, then he said, “Now, let’s go watch the sun come up.”  
  
————————————————

**Modern  
**  
Mexico knew that he should have known better than to let Cuba match him drink for drink. Usually Cuba was the sober one who looked after him. But, in this case, no one needed to drive, and Mexico had promised to behave himself.   
  
But, he realized that he should have known that his friend would get drunk so much more quickly. Cuba hadn’t spent years drowning his liver in alcohol, so the natural result of them drinking together was that Mexico felt almost completely sober, and Cuba was clearly feeling it.  
  
Cuba had a big smile on his face as Mexico held the door open for him. Mexico made sure to close the door and lock it, since he was sure that Cuba would not think to do it.   
Before he could even finish, he heard, “Ale, come here. I want to cuddle.”   
Mexico replied, talking over his shoulder, “Just a second.”   
  
As soon as he was sure that was done, he returned to Cuba, who had taken to leaning against the kitchen counter. He looked like he was slightly unsteady on his feet and had decided that the kitchen counter was the best support.  
  
Once Mexico got close enough, Cuba said, “Why aren’t you drunk?”  
  
He was slurring his words slightly, and Mexico couldn’t help but find it very endearing. He so rarely got to turn the tables on Cuba. He leaned forward and kissed Cuba on the cheek, and he said, “I have more practice than you.”  
  
While he was leaning forward, Cuba took the chance to put his arms around waist and pull him into a hug. He said, a huge smile on his face, “I feel good.”   
  
He tightened his hug and leaned forward to kiss Mexico on one cheek. It was unrestrained and slightly sloppy. Mexico smiled at how sweet Cuba was being. It was genuinely touching that when he had no restraint, the best parts of his personality came out.   
  
Mexico had also had enough drinks to really enjoy the touch. It was pleasant and sweet. He chuckled, “Of course you do. You’re drunk.”   
  
Cuba kissed him again, this time on his jawline, and then on his temple. Then he said, right in Mexico’s ear, “And you’re so hot.”   
  
Mexico felt a shiver go down his spine at the tone that Cuba was using. He thought that maybe he was more drunk than he felt, because he couldn’t help but feel like there was something sexual about the tone and he didn’t object to it. The hug felt so nice, and his mind supplied the idea that Cuba could be just as sort with something more intimate.  
  
He felt Cuba’s large hand on his ponytail, slowly running his fingers through it. Cuba nuzzled his shoulder and said, “You have the prettiest hair. When we were kids, I used to want hair like yours so badly.” Mexico replied, trying to comfort him, “Your hair is beautiful too.”   
  
He ran his hand through Cuba’s dreadlocks, and tangled his fingers in them. He loved the way that they felt.   
  
Cuba didn’t seem to be listening, and was instead busying himself by peppering Mexico’s face with light kisses. Mexico could feel his own face getting hot.  
  
He loved the feeling of being held, firmly but gently, and being kissed. Part of his mind was longing for Cuba to find his lips, and the tequila had done enough work that he did not question the thought.   
  
Cuba said, between sweet kisses, “I love you so much. More than anyone.” Mexico couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. He responded, “I love you too, my big bear.”   
  
———————————————

**Modern  
**  
Cuba looked over at Mexico, who was driving with a look of quiet determination on his face. He spoke, “I really don’t mind surprises, but when are you planning to tell where we are going?”   
  
It was easy to trust in Mexico, since he would never do anything harmful, and he had been clear over the phone that it was a date. He hadn’t said where they were going or what they were going to do, but he wouldn’t plan anything bad.   
  
Mexico had just told him to dress casual, and his tone when he said it sounded like he was saying it with a mischievous smirk. Cuba had not guessed that they would be driving through the jungle in the afternoon, with the heat of the summer’s day just beginning to wane.   
  
Mexico answered without turning to look at him, “Just a little further and we will be there. Trust me, it will be fun.”   
  
Cuba could only see half of his face, but the half he was seeing was smiling in a way that was quite self satisfied. Resigned to whatever his partner had in store for him, he leaned back in the seat and kept his eyes on Mexico.   
  
He liked to watch his partner in moments like this, when he was handsome and determined. Mexico had a face that he could stare at forever. It was so uniquely attractive, and not even because of his unique eyes. Every single one of his lovers commented on his eyes and always had. Those striking Aztec gold eyes that everyone wanted to praise.  
  
There was far more about him to praise. Cuba thought that his strong cheekbones and the distinctive profile of his nose were far more worth praising than his eyes.   
  
He was a handsome man, and it was hard not to see it. It seemed like all of the world knew it, and was always looking to exploit it.  
  
There was a slight smile on Mexico’s face, and it made him look so cute. He always looked more himself when he would smile, especially that real smile when he was genuinely enjoying himself. It was a pity he could never see him the way that Cuba could see him, and he seemed to think he needed artifice to be cute.  
  
Mexico seemed to be looking for some specific place to turn, and the look on his face slowly shifted to one of concentration. Then, he seemed to find it, and then turned gently onto a small side road.   
  
Then, he brought the car to a stop, and turned to Cuba with a smile. He said, “We’re here.”  
Cuba replied, “Are you going to tell me where here is?”   
Mexico gave him a flash of a sly smile and said, “Trust me. You’ll love this place.”   
  
Cuba sighed and decided that he had to take his word for it. He opened the door and stepped out. Mexico pulled a bag from the back seat and locked the car.   
Then he took Cuba’s hand and said, “Come on, let’s go.”   
  
The knowing smile on his face was charming in a way that Cuba was sure he wasn’t even aware of. He followed Mexico down a path that was not immediately obvious for a short distance.  
The path stopped at the edge of a shallow cenote. It went down a few feet, and it was full of clear blue water at the bottom, looking almost otherworldly.   
  
Cuba looked over the edge and said, “Ah. This is what you were being so mysterious about.”  
Mexico smiled mischievously back at him, and said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? As far as I know, very few people know where this is.”   
  
Cuba turned to him, and Mexico immediately used as an opportunity to put his hand tenderly to his face. Mexico said, looking the other in the eyes, “It’s a private place for us.”   
  
Then he leaned forward, and Cuba knew that he wanted a kiss. He was always happy to give it. Every time their lips met, it felt like his boyhood dreams made flesh. He had always wanted this, and it felt like a delirious dream that Mexico wanted it too.  
  
But there had been far too many kisses to doubt it now. He could remember each of them so clearly. The hesitant first one, when usually confident Mexico had trembled. The soft ones they stole when they could have a moment alone between meetings. The deep lusty ones when they were in bed together. This one was quick, but soft and meaningful.   
  
When they broke apart, Cuba said, “Can we get closer?”  
  
He meant closer to the water, but he was also content with Mexico taking it to mean he wanted to be closer together. But, Mexico seemed to take the first meaning, because he took one of Cuba’s hands in his own and responded, “I’ll show you the path down.”   
  
They reached the bottom of the cenote, and it was even more stunning from the bottom. The deep blue of the water reminded Cuba so strongly of his own coastal waters. It was the same beautiful, brilliant blue that he found remarkably familiar.   
  
He wished he could dive into the water. It would be a good time for it, since there was a sticky, humid heat in the air. A swim would feel quite nice. But he was not prepared for that.  
Voicing his thoughts, Cuba said, “I wish you had told me before. I would have brought something to swim in.”   
  
Mexico was standing behind him, slightly further back. There was a sound as he put down the bag he had taken from the car. Cuba heard him say, “Who said anything about wearing anything to swim?”   
  
He turned and saw that Mexico had already taking off his shirt, like he was preparing to get completely naked. He could now see that the bag was full of towels, like Mexico did intend to swim.   
  
Cuba felt his cheeks get warm as he blushed. He said, “We can’t do that. What if someone sees us?”   
  
It felt mortifying to think of someone stumbling across them and seeing his body unclothed. He could understand why Mexico did not care. His body was perfect, and anyone who saw it would see that.   
  
Cuba felt like he did not have the same luxury. He had always felt like people would not want to see the extra weight he carried in his midsection. It seemed to him that it was not the world’s most attractive body.  
  
Mexico finished taking off his shirt and said, “No one is going to. I told you, this is a private place for us.” He stepped closer and said, “I thought about that. I want you to feel comfortable.”  
  
Cuba glanced around at the walls of the cenote and realized that it would be hard for anyone to see them. It was far enough down that someone would have to be specifically looking for them. That was not very likely if few people knew of this place.  
  
He swallowed his own concern and insecurity and tried to focus on enjoying himself. It was a special outing that Mexico had planned for both of them, and he was not going to reject that. He was going to let himself relax and enjoy it.   
  
Mexico started working on pulling off his pants, and Cuba took a moment to enjoy watching the way that the muscles worked in his back. He was so muscular, but was not bulky like some men.  
  
Mexico slipped off his pants, leaving himself completely naked. He caught Cuba looking at him, and said, “Stop staring and join me.”   
  
Cuba smirked at him and replied, “But I like staring at you.” It was a brazen flirtation, but he was comfortable saying it.   
  
Mexico gave him a truly seductive look and stepped closer. He said, leaning in to be close to Cuba, “You can look all you want.”  
  
He then pressed his lips quickly to Cuba’s again, quick but soft. Cuba put his hands almost habitually on Mexico’s waist, which was now bare. He loved the way that his hands seemed to fit perfectly there, like they were made for each other.   
  
Mexico said, pulling out of the kiss, “But you have to swim with me.”   
  
Then, he used his hands to unbutton the top button on Cuba’s shirt. Cuba wanted to pull him into another kiss, but Mexico backed away coyly. Then, in a single graceful motion, Mexico turned and plunged into the water.   
  
Cuba decided to not argue about it. Instead he started working on his shirt. The buttons made him feel like it was frustratingly slow progress.   
  
As he watched, Mexico surfaced , and ran one hand through his wet hair to get the stray hairs off of his face. Mexico swam like a man who had been born in a city on a lake. He always looked so comfortable in the water.   
  
Cuba finished taking off his shirt as Mexico perched himself on the edge of the water with one arm on the edge. He looked very much like a mermaid. He would certainly tempt a sailor.  
Mexico looked like he was waiting somewhat impatiently, but he didn’t say anything. Cuba managed to take off the rest of his clothing, and then swept his dreadlocks into a ponytail. They would take too long to dry if he didn’t.   
  
He realized that Mexico was watching him, and biting his lower lip. There was something lusty about his gaze. As their eyes met, Mexico confirmed it by saying, “You’re so sexy. I love your body.”   
  
Cuba still found that somewhat hard to believe, even though he knew that Mexico would not lie to him. He replied, “I’m not as sexy as you.”   
Mexico shook his head and replied, “I think you’re one of the sexiest men I have ever seen. Now get in with me.”   
  
Cuba nodded, and then lowered himself into the water. He expected it to be deep water, and was pleasantly surprised to realize that there was a shelf beneath the water.   
  
It was just far enough down that Cuba could stand on it and have his head above water. Mexico was clearly treading water, since he was not tall enough to reach.  
  
The cool water felt incredibly refreshing, but he hardly had time to dwell on it. Mexico took the chance to embrace him, and to wrap his legs around Cuba’s hips. He had a smirk on his lips like a mischievous cat.   
  
Cuba was not going to complain about being so close though. He put his hands on Mexico’s hips. Mexico said softly, “I really do love your body. I love all of you.”   
Cuba laughed and said, “You don’t have to take skinny dipping to see me naked.”   
  
He was beginning to suspect that was part of this plan. Mexico shook his head and said, “Oh, I know that. I wanted to swim.” Then he smirked even more widely and said, “Getting to see you naked is a very nice bonus.”   
  
Cuba blushed and said, “I love you.” Then he locked lips with his partner again.


	9. El Salvador

**Modern  
**  
El Salvador was pacing in his own living room, stewing in his own thoughts. He had texted his boyfriend to get him to come home. He could feel rage building up in his body, and there was only a matter of time before it broke free of all of his control. He needed someone else here to listen to him and to tell him that he was not overreacting.  
  
His brothers had always said that he lost his temper far too easily, but they did not understand how it felt to have this all building up in his chest. Guatemala had always said that he should take several deep breaths before he ever let his rage slip out. But, that never worked. It only made the feeling build up as he tried to breath it away.  
  
He started clenching and unclenching his hands in an effort to exercise some of the tension.   
  
Then, the door opened and Panama came through it. He looked worried, and El Salvador had guessed that his text had been quite urgent. He said, as soon as he saw Panama, “Thank God you’re back! I need to rant!”   
  
Panama gave him an understanding look, then took several steps to the closest available chair. Only then did he look up at El Salvador and say, “Alright, what is on your mind?”   
  
El Salvador wished he was the kind of man who could stop and appreciate that Panama was patient with him, but his anger and frustration could not be restrained. He said, finally putting words to his feelings, “Alejandro just gave me a lot of money as ‘aid.’”  
  
He drew harsh air quotes around the word aid, because it seemed far too charitable for his brother’s intentions. He had learned long ago not to take Mexico’s intentions at face value long ago. He continued talking, “He didn’t ask me first. He just gave it to me. Why would he even do that?”  
  
The silence that followed was intentional. El Salvador was hoping that Panama would intone and help him sort out what was going on. He had no idea and wanted to hear what someone else thought.  
  
Panama took a deep breath, like he was steadying himself for what he was going to say, and then said, “Are you mad at him for giving you money?”  
  
It was a simple question, but El Salvador had to think about it. The rage was his initial reaction, and it was harder to put it into words. He decided on saying, “No! But he will want something in exchange for this! There is always something else with him.”  
  
Panama took another deep breath and then asked, “Has he asked for anything else?”   
Again, El Salvador had to think about it, because he had assumed a demand without ever hearing one. But, once he thought about it he realized that Mexico had never said anything.  
  
Slowly, he said, “No, he didn’t.”  
Panama extended his arms to his boyfriend and said, “Come here, Chava.”  
  
El Salvador did as he was told and he came into his boyfriend’s arms. Panama pulled him down into his lap. It was a comfortable place, and he felt calmer already.  
  
Panama used one hand to pet his hair softly. The gesture always did such an amazing time calming him down. Panama said in his soft, soothing voice, “I know that he hurt you when you really needed a brother. And you are not wrong for feeling that, darling.”   
  
El Salvador leaned into the other man’s shoulder, which made it much easier for Panama to pet his whole head of hair. Panama continued, “But, I think that what he wants in exchange is for you to give him another chance. He is trying to do better.”  
  
He took his other hand and stroked El Salvador’s cheek. He continued, “I think that maybe it is time for you to give him a chance. Can you do that?”  
  
El Salvador almost immediately wanted to say no, because he still held a grudge against his brother. But, Panama’s soft calming hands convinced him not to say it. Instead, he nodded and said, “I will try.”


	10. England

**Age of Sail  
**  
England opened the door to the captain’s cabin and walked into the room with a sunny smile. Portugal looked up from the book in his hands. They had been stuck in the tropical doldrums for a few days. He had enjoyed the quiet time together, but the wind had just caught in the sails.   
  
Portugal intended to go up on deck soon, but he had decided to let England have the joy of it first. If he had any doubt about the wind outside, the look of England’s hair when he ducked back into the cabin dispelled them.  
  
The wind had caught his hair and tousled it. England had been growing out his hair lately, and it reached to his shoulders now. In this case, it had given the wind even more to work with and left his hair completely tangled.   
  
Portugal found it sweet to see England take such a casual approach with his hair. When they were in society, he was careful to keep it slicked down and in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. But, on his ship, it was a different story. He didn’t play the posh gentleman around the sailors.  
  
Portugal personally found it handsome when England was a little windswept. But, this was more than even he liked.  
  
England said happily, “We got our wind back! We’ll be to Bermuda in no time.”  
Portugal smiled at his excitement. He said, “I see that.” and gestured to England’s hair.   
  
The blonde’s face fell a little as he understood what Portugal meant. He said, sounding genuinely worried, “Is it bad?”   
  
Portugal put his book aside and beckoned to England. The blonde followed without question and took a seat with his back to Portugal. He must have already guessed what Portugal wanted to do.   
  
But, to be sure, Portugal ran his hands through the blonde tangles and said firmly, “I’m brushing your hair. It’s a mess.”  
  
He leaned over to grab his own brush off of a low table. His own hair required enough effort that he knew what he was doing. He took a section of the tangled hair and started to gently brush it.   
  
England said, and Portugal could hear the smile in his voice, “You are very gentle.”   
Portugal smiled and said as he continued to work through the pieces of hair, “I have had long hair for a while, my dear. I know what I’m doing.”   
  
England was staying perfectly still so that Portugal could work, and it was making the process far easier. He spoke again and said, “You’re gentler than Francis.”   
  
Portugal felt a slight shock. He knew that his partner had once been closer to France, but he had not heard this story yet. He responded, running the brush through another piece of hair, now that the first was dealt with, “Francis brushed your hair?”   
  
England seemed to want to nod, but thought better of the idea because his hair was in Portugal’s hands. He said instead, “Yes, when we were kids, I grew my hair out and he brushed it. Then he cut it all off because he said I looked like a caterpillar with long hair.”   
  
Portugal felt himself bristle at the old insult, because he could hear the hurt in England’s voice, no matter how much he seemed to want to hide it. He knew that France was the source of many of England’s insecurities, and they were all from unfair judgements and digging comments.  
  
He finished the brushing the hair, which now lay in pleasant silky waves. Then he said, as he tied the hair into a low ponytail, “He’s wrong. You have lovely hair, dear. It just needs a little extra love.”  
  
England turned his head to reveal a sweet, boyish smile and Portugal kissed him softly on the lips.  
  
——————————-  
  
 **Age of Sail  
**  
England knew this had to be an important galleon when he saw the size and the flag that flew from the mast. But as he came to the door of the captain’s chambers to ensure the surrender, he got a very strange feeling about how valuable the prize he had captured was.   
  
The captain was standing by the door with his sword in his hand. England approached him and opened his mouth, but the mortal immediately said, “The ship is yours, but I urge you to be careful. This is precious cargo.”   
  
England smiled to himself. If it warranted this kind of warning, than this was even better than anything he had been able to steal from Spain thus far. With that same smile still on his face, England opened the door.   
  
He gasped as he saw who was sitting in the chair, with his eyes on the door. New Spain seemed supremely unconcerned with the situation. He smiled in a way that made England feel a bit of warmth under his collar and said, “You look surprised.”   
  
England found out from the captain’s log that this ship was meant to protect New Spain on his journey back to Madrid. England could not believe his luck; he could use this opportunity to demand a hefty ransom from Spain and it gave him a chance to influence Spain’s most valuable colony, and that was an opportunity he would likely never have again.  
  
He wrote a letter explaining the situation to Spain and stated his terms with a rising sense of glee. Spain would be forced to bend to his will if he wanted his precious colony, and his lover if the rumors were true, back.   
  
England then made a point to invite New Spain to have dinner with him, though he could have forced him since New Spain was his prisoner. But, it was courtesy and he did want the conversation. Though he had heard rumors about New Spain and seen him at formal meetings, he had never really had the chance to speak to him.   
  
He had his cook make food that he thought would be acceptable to someone who was used to Spanish cuisine. Then he waited for his offer to be accepted with rising interest. He could have looked for letters in the captain’s quarters, but he preferred to let New Spain be an enigma for now.   
  
The door of the room opened and New Spain entered, casting a glare at the man who was accompanying him just behind the door. But he had an incredible grace to him when he settled himself in the chair as far away from England as he could.   
  
England cleared his throat and said the first thing he had planned to say, “I don’t want you to think of yourself as a prisoner. You are more like my guest.”   
New Spain scoffed and he spoke in English that was surprisingly good, if heavily accented, “Then I am free to have my ship back and to go to Madrid? No, I am your prisoner.”   
  
England was taken aback by how swift and decisive the response was. He also found it strange that Spain would teach his precious colony English. But, he was about to correct his position when New Spain added, “And you are asking Antonio for a ransom. There is no other reason to keep me here.”   
  
England had planned exactly what he was going to say, but the entire script escaped him. He had intended to be clever and try to convince New Spain to doubt Spain. Instead, he spoke his mind, “If you know all of this already, then why didn’t you put up a fight?”   
  
New Spain eyed the food suspiciously before replying, “I don’t think you intend to hurt me. If you do, Tony will revenge it tenfold, and you know that.”   
  
England could not deny that he could not face the entirety of Spain’s power. Piracy and war were worlds apart and he couldn’t harm a hair on New Spain’s head if he wanted to avoid war.   
He was impressed that the boy had such an insight into politics. New Spain continued, apparently entirely unconcerned if England was going to respond to him, “And maybe this will make a point to Antonio. He hasn’t taught me how to fight.”   
  
This struck England as very strange. Forgetting his usual gentleman’s manners, he said, “But you are his most valuable colony! Surely he is worried something like this might happen.”  
  
New Spain scoffed again and took a piece of bread from the table. He had apparently judged the bread to be most likely to be edible. Then he said, and this time England made note of just how pleasant his voice was, “He worries that if he teaches me to use a sword that I will use it against him. You can’t deny that you would do the same.”   
  
England was genuinely shocked by the accusation. If he had a colony as valuable as New Spain, he would not put him at the mercy of anyone who could wield a sword. It seemed strangely paranoid to think that his colony would immediately turn on him. This was especially strange considering that the rumors were that New Spain was very loyal.   
  
England took a deep breath and said, “I wouldn’t want to put the jewel of my imperial crown at risk, and I would trust the loyalty of my colony. If I treat my colonies well then I would expect loyalty in return.”   
  
New Spain shook his head, but it was hard to tell if he was really listening. New Spain changed the subject, “Do you know what Tony calls you? He says you are a thieving heretic.”  
England was not surprised; he knew that Spain hated him for challenging the church. So he only said, “Perhaps you should not believe everything he says.”   
  
New Spain replied, “Oh, it has never occurred to me that Antonio might lie.” His tone was such that England found himself completely incapable of figuring out if he was being sarcastic or not.


	11. France

**The Second Empire  
**  
Mexico made no secret of the fact that he was not happy with this arrangement, but France had seemed entirely unfazed by his harsh tone. When Mexico had said that he would never willingly end up in his bed, France had said with a smile on his face, “It’s an offer, not a demand. You can accept whenever you please. I will not be leaving any time soon.”   
  
Then he had walked away. As he ate a quick dinner stubbornly away from France, Mexico was having trouble understanding why an empire who had conquered him had taken no as an answer so easily. It ran counter to everything he knew of Europeans and empires. He had accepted when the war was lost that he would have no choice.   
  
Francis had never made any secret of his attraction, nor his intention. So, why would he not take it now that he could force the issue?   
  
He turned the question over in his mind as he prodded at his food moodily with his fork. There was a budding awareness in the back of his mind that France was treating him with a degree of respect that he was not accustomed to.   
  
He pushed the plate away, no longer interested in it. He had to reconcile himself to being cordial for however long France’s military hold over him lasted. So, he would not hurt to make himself friendly to France. If he knew that there was no risk of being forced into bed, then he could stomach it. It would be better than waiting on his own.  
  
As he stood up to go find France, the door opened. The mortal who walked through it spoke as soon as he entered the room, “Francis would like to extend an invitation to you to join him.”   
  
Mexico was struck silent for a moment. He had intended to seek out the Frenchman, but had no expected to get an invitation. Less eloquently than usual, he replied, “Tell him that I accept.”   
  
He did not question the words until they had already left his mouth. Then, it occurred to him that he was jumping at the chance with no idea what he was going to do. The most he could do was talk to his conqueror and build some trust, but to what end? He could not deny that he was craving the company. Did he really plan to spend the entire occupation sulking alone? It would only make him miserable.   
  
The thought crossed his mind, as well, that he didn’t find France’s offer as unappealing as he had said. France was a handsome man, and there was something very refined and charming about him. But, Mexico told himself that it was purely for social comfort.   
  
So, he walked out of the room to find France. Stepping into the room was like stepping into a different world. It was light and airy, like a painting brought to life. Mexico knew the room, though he had not spent much time at Chapultepec in years, but the space felt foreign to him. It was as though France had brought some French charm with him and used it to change the world around him to his liking.  
  
The curtains were closed, and the room was lit by so many candles. There seemed to be cakes or sweets on the remaining surfaces. There was something heady about the scent of chocolate in the air.   
  
Mexico felt some of his resolve melt. There was so much temptation all around, and he felt himself staring at all the decadence wondering where France had conjured them from.   
His eyes did not, at first, go directly to the blonde man sitting on one of the couches. France looked more like a courtier than a conqueror. His shirt was open far enough to reveal his chest. His blonde hair was freed from its usual ponytail, and was curling provocatively around his shoulders.   
  
His eyes brightened as he caught sight of Mexico. He was undoubtedly amused by the expression on the younger man’s face. France spoke, “Come sit with me.”   
  
He gestured to the spot on the couch next to him. There was enough room for the offer to be chaste, but Mexico was not so naive as to believe that; he could see the look of deep lust in the other’s eyes. But, he found himself walking to the spot anyway.   
  
France had made it clear that if he was uncomfortable, he could say no. That was the option, he reminded himself, if this went further than he was comfortable.  
  
But, in this atmosphere, it felt like nothing could be uncomfortable. He sat on the comfortable couch that he did not remember owning. France turned to him with a small smile and said, “I am glad you accepted. I feel like you have misunderstood the nature of our arrangement.”   
  
Mexico cast him what he hoped was a withering glance. He understood perfectly well that he was under occupation and he knew what that meant. He said, “I understand perfectly well.”  
France fixed him with a soft blue stare and spoke, “I have not made myself clear. I am not Antonio; I will not insist that you do anything. I am not Alfred; I will not take your territory. If you want to ignore me while I support my own interests, and I will not stop you.”   
  
Mexico scoffed and cast a longing eye at a plate of small chocolate cakes sitting so temptingly close. For all of his resistance, he had always had a sweet tooth, and it was calling to him. When had he last let himself indulge? He said, trying to keep his mind on one thing, “You know I won’t do that.”   
  
France leaned closer and Mexico found himself looking him directly in his eyes. They were so dazzlingly blue. France reached past him and picked up one of the cakes. He then said, his voice softer now that he was closer to Mexico, “I was counting on that. You are too clever and curious to stay away.”  
  
He paused for a moment before bringing the cake to Mexico’s eye level. He said, “I think you will find that it can be quite enjoyable if you will allow me.”  
  
Mexico wanted to tell him that the had no interest in enjoying anything. But, his stomach wanted something different, and there was no harm in a little treat. He took the cake from France’s hand and took a bite of it.   
  
It was sweet and irresistibly deep. For a moment, Mexico forgot that he was sitting right next to an empire, and let himself focus on the taste. France ran one hand softly up the side of Mexico’s face and said, “You see, it can be quite pleasant. There is no commitment, just pleasure.”  
  
The touch sent little sparks of sensation down Mexico’s neck. He was suddenly very aware that no one had touched him like that in years. He had not had a lover since America had stabbed him in the back. That pain had driven him from every liaison. A craving, deeper than any he felt for the cake or the company, bloomed in his gut.  
  
France continued with a little sly smile, “So, have you thought about my offer?”  
Mustering his only resistance, Mexico said, “I am considering it.”   
  
He knew the coyness hid very little. France was used to seduction enough to know when a deflection was just that. He put his other hand on Mexico’s thigh. It sent another set of sparks through him and drove the craving even lower in his body.  
  
The blonde leaned in close, so close that Mexico thought he might take the initiative and kiss him. He could smell the subtle perfume on the blonde hair and it was intoxicating. France whispered in his ear, “I want you to say yes so I can ravish you. I want to find every sensitive spot on your beautiful body. I want to make you tremble with pleasure. I want to hear your lovely voice moan my name. All you need to do is say you want that too. Do you?”  
  
Mexico felt the lust in his gut burning and demanding that there was no way he could turn it down. He wanted more viscerally than he had felt in decades and France was offering that, with no commitment at all. As he met France’s eyes again, he found his voice and said, “Yes, I do.”   
  
It felt like an admission to the most carnal of cravings, but it was hard to feel ashamed. As France joined their lips, it felt so right. He tasted like sweet wine and roses, and Mexico gladly kissed him deeply. It felt so good, so right to let himself give in to this.   
  
One of France’s hands was leaving light touches up his thigh, and the other moved up his neck. Without breaking the kiss, or even opening his eyes, France undid the knot holding Mexico’s hair in a ponytail.   
  
He ran his fingers through it, as he finally pulled back from the kissed and left Mexico pulling in deep breaths. Mexico felt lightheaded as he let himself be pulled into France’s lap.   
His skin was burning with need, and it felt like France was playing with him. Unbidden, a needy whine escaped his throat. France chuckled, “We have all the time in the world, mon cher. There is no need for that.”  
Mexico countered, “You promised me bliss. I expect to be in heaven.”   
  
France took Mexico’s shirt firmly in hand, and pulled it off. He said, amusement in his voice, “I will have to teach you some patience. I’m not going to be abrupt. That is no way to treat someone as beautiful as you.” Mexico took his shirt all the way off, balled up the shirt, and threw it away, so his chest was bare.   
  
France leaned forward and ran his tongue up his chest. Mexico let out a breathy moan. He had missed this so much more than he had realized. It had been so long, and the sensation was welcome.   
  
France left light kisses up his neck. Mexico felt the other’s hand move down him back and dip beneath the waistband of his pants. It was slow, teasing. France finished his slow progress up his neck and spoke in Mexico’s ear again, “Do you like that?”  
  
His tone was smooth and sensual, inviting the response. Mexico wrapped his arms securely around the blonde’s shoulders and said firmly, “I want more.”  
France purred, “So demanding.”   
  
He joined their lips again, his touch firm but still gentle. As they kissed, France took his hand from Mexico’s lower back and started to work on his own pants. Hungrily, Mexico pulled himself deeper into the kiss and rose up on his knees for a better angle and to allow France to take his pants off more easily.   
  
France pulled away from the kiss only long enough to pull in a breath and say, “If you want me to stop, you need only say so.”  
  
Mexico looked into his eyes and felt a profound control. He could stop this moment, even when he had committed this much. But, that was not what he wanted. He was craving more with every fiber of his being, and it was fully his choice. He replied, “I really want this tonight.”   
  
A smirk curled up the corner of the blonde’s mouth. He said, “Only for tonight?”  
Mexico let out a short laugh and replied, “I’ll decide later.”  
He paused before adding, “If you impress me.”   
  
———————————-

**The Second Empire  
**  
Mexico was laying in bed, with a blanket half-heartedly pulled up over his legs. It was far too warm and sticky in the room for him to want even a single covering. Even the light blanket felt stifling.  
  
He turned his head to see France’s long golden locks of hair on the pillow next to him. He felt a strange disconnect from the fact that he was laying next to a man who had conquered him by force. He should be able to muster anger at the fact that France had defeated him and forced him to accept a puppet government. But, he had let himself bring France into his bed and spent the night in the kind of bliss that let him forget everything.   
  
It had been incredible to let himself relinquish all control and have another man gently use his body. He couldn’t help but think that it was strange to put so much trust in a man who he neither loved nor cared for outside of this bedroom. It had felt natural enough though.   
  
But, now that the afterglow was gone, the feeling of discomfort was growing. It was becoming harder to lay here and look at the sleeping face of an invader. Mexico sat up, and noticed how France barely stirred at his movement. The man must have been entirely exhausted from the night’s entertainment. Mexico, however, felt like he could not possibly sleep.   
  
It was a warm summer night and it didn’t feel worthwhile to lay beside another person, especially when he was certain that he would not sleep. He grabbed a pair of pants and an undershirt and pulled both on as quietly as he possibly could.   
  
He wanted to leave this room and find quiet and peace elsewhere in the palace. If it were his own house, he wouldn’t bother with clothing. But there was a possibility of running into a servant or another person as he walked. So, for the sake of limiting the spread of gossip and rumors, he covered himself.   
  
He stumbled slightly as he pulled on the pants. His tired legs did not hold his weight as easily as they usually did, but the sound of him faltering didn’t wake France. The man didn’t even stir in his sleep.   
  
He then pulled a silk robe over his own shoulders. That should be enough clothing that he wouldn’t scandalize anyone he happened upon. He still left the belt loose around his waist, because it would feel constraining otherwise.   
  
He stepped carefully over the clothing that had been thrown to the floor, taking little notice of it beyond what was necessary to avoid stepping on it. The moonlight filtering in through the windows was enough to see where he was putting his feet.   
  
He managed to reach the door without making any noise. Sneaking out was an old skill that he had practiced enough as a colony.   
  
In the adjacent room, there was still a half empty bottle of Champagne, surrounded by plates of rich sweets. It had not taken France long to discover Mexico’s fondness for deserts and chocolates, and Mexico could not deny that France’s baking was divine. He walked to the table and picked up a petit four drizzled in chocolate and took a bite of it.   
  
The taste was still incredible, though it was not as fresh as it had been hours ago when he had eaten the same cake from France’s hand. Then it had been recklessly indulgent, even sinful.  
He finished the small cake and decided not to take another. The joy of it was fading and he felt a disgust at the way he had let himself be so easily intoxicated by good food and fine wine and not guarded himself against France.   
  
He took the bottle of wine and poured himself another glass. If he was going to be awake with just his thoughts, he wanted to have the alcohol to dull them. It was not an elegant solution, but drink had been a consistent way to deal with his thoughts. He filled the glass before placing the bottle back down softly. Then he took the glass and began to walk, without taking a single drink yet.   
  
He walked until he reached a door to the outside. The layout of the castle was familiar to him, though new furniture now occupied the rooms. It was easy enough for him to find his way around in the dark without lighting a candle, which might bring attention to him.  
  
He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the terrace. He stepped closer to the edge, where there was a balustrade he could easily lean on. Once he reached it, he glanced around.   
He could see flowers on the hill below him, and they were beautiful in the moonlight. The castle was becoming a proper royal residence, but he felt little joy in that.   
  
He took a drink of wine, hoping for some relief from the disappointed frustration. It had always been his dearest ambition to be an empire like his mother had planned for him. But, this seemed like a strange perversion of that dream. The regime was not his own; it was the government of France’s choosing.   
  
The emperor was a foreigner. His democratically elected president was in hiding, and he wouldn’t know where until he got another letter in secret from Juarez. But, with the French army so firmly in control, there seemed little chance of returning his president to power.   
  
Mexico bit back his own frustration. He should feel so much bitter hatred towards the whole situation, and the lack of it was puzzling to him. It was wrong for him to enjoy even a single morsel given by an invader, but he had enjoyed it. When had he become a coquet who could let himself smile and flirt in the lap of an empire? He felt like, somewhere in the years of battle and chaos, he had become weak.   
  
In the moment, he felt like he was miles away from the young man he had once been. He may have been naive then, but he had spent his independence on the battlefield. He had fought for every moment of it and refused to ever surrender. How, he mused, was this different?   
  
He took another drink, though the wine was not having the effect he had hoped for. His thoughts were still strong, and shameful.  
  
This was foreign occupation, and Mexico was doing nothing to fight it anymore. He could have spent his independence in Spain’s bed, and he would have been welcomed there. He could have waited for mortals to bring it to him. But, that was cowardice. So, why was he content with it now?  
  
It didn’t seem to make a difference in his mind that he was sending letters to Juarez through a messenger that he knew for certain would die for Juarez. Or that his president had told him not to abandon the capital, and to play along while he must, that he would give the impression that the government was secure and supported.   
  
But, the reality of the situation was not what was making him question himself. It was that he was genuinely enjoying the moment. It almost felt like a victory that he had lost a war, and yet he lived in comfort. France offered him whatever he wanted, and demanded little in return. In terms of occupation, this was the kindest it could possibly be. It was as if he had won the best possible comfort for himself.  
  
The thought made him feel physically sick. He took another gulp of wine. It was all wrong. He could not let himself revel in this, even if he had everything he could possibly want.   
The question came back to his mind, still so terrible: Why couldn’t he hate this?   
  
The worst thought came, not for the first time. It was because everyone who had ever gossiped about him were right, and always had been. He was a whore who could be comfortable being subjugated. For all the fighting to prove that he was something other than that, the rumors had never faded, and now they felt true.  
  
The thought, the one that he usually tried to keep far from his mind, sent a shudder of revulsion through his body. Had he proved them all right with this indulgent selfishness?   
  
He felt his hand tighten on the glass. There was no use in a crown and pleasure if it meant he was still under the thumb of a European power, even one that treated him well. He put his free hand on the balustrade and felt his hand tighten as he thought.   
  
He took another drink, effectively draining the glass.   
  
His thoughts turned again, this time with cold determination. He had lived hundreds of years in a court where he was showered with gifts and attention, and he had remained distant through all of it. This had to be the same. He could appear to accept everything and be happy with his position, while keeping himself cold to everything. He could still accept France’s advances and enjoy them without letting the man in.  
  
Mexico placed the glass of wine to the side by his feet. He was determined now that he needed to play the whore for now, and make France believe it. But, he would regard France and his puppet emperor with nothing but disdain. That would keep any enjoyment and contentment at bay and allow him to feel the resentment that he so desperately craved.  
  
A sound broke through the quiet night. It was the sound of little running paws. Mexico turned to see one of his chihuahuas running towards him across the dark terrace.  
  
The dog stopped quickly right at his feet and pawed uncomfortably in place while letting out a insistent whine. They all did this when they wanted to be picked up and held.   
Mexico gladly obliged him, the company would make him feel better for now. He bent and picked up the small dog in one arm.   
  
As he straightened back up, he realized that there was a gleam of candlelight at the door that the dog had run out of. Mexico slowly looked up and realized that there was a tall figure taking steps towards him.   
  
“Alexander?”   
  
Mexico recognized the voice of his emperor and he drew in a breath. He straightened up with his dog held firmly against his chest. He then responded, “Yes, Your Highness?”   
  
His emperor walked towards him, and he was a striking figure in the low light. He was tall, but not imposing. Mexico reminded himself that he must keep his distance around this foreign emperor, the fixture of an imposed regime. He steeled himself for this conversation.  
  
Maximilian finally spoke once he was close enough, “That little one came to me, and wanted to be let out here. I think he wanted to see you.”   
  
Mexico glanced down at the dog who looked back up at him with what seemed like feigned innocence. He was surprised, though. His dogs were protective and had always been openly hostile to people who meant him harm. It seemed odd that one of them would lead Maximilian directly to him.   
  
Mexico responded with all the courtesy he could muster, “They usually do not like strangers. I hope he did not wake you.”  
  
Maximilian shook his head with a small smile. He replied, “I was in my study. I was thinking about Juarez and I could not sleep.”   
  
Mexico hadn’t realized that he was slightly drunk until he tried to focus his will on keeping Maximilian at a distance. For all of his thoughts of caution, his impulses tend to run more freely when he drank.  
  
He was smiling as he said, “I could not sleep either.”  
The admission made it feel like there was something in common between them. Maximilian smiled with a kindness that made Mexico feel profoundly unsettled, and he said, “What is on your mind?”   
  
It was an honest question, but there was no way that Mexico could answer it. Instead he shook his head and said, “It is not important.”   
  
He expected that to be enough to end the conversation. But, Maximilian stepped closer to him and took his left hand in his own. Mexico could have pulled his hand away, but he didn’t.  
The mortal spoke again and his tone was soft, “Your worries are important and I want to understand all of them. I want to be a good emperor to you.” His hold on Mexico’s hand was gentle, almost distractingly so. Before Mexico could think of a way to deny that he was worried, the mortal spoke again, “I understand if you do not want to tell me now. This is a new arrangement and I know you will need time to trust me. But, I promise that I will listen when you feel ready.”   
  
The respect in the words struck Mexico speechless. He couldn’t quite believe that a man who had accepted the crown was treating him so thoughtfully . It was the first time they had really spoken outside of politics and formality. He hadn’t had a chance to realize how the distance between them was meant to be polite to him. Maximilian was trying to give him the distance he needed to adjust to the change.  
  
Mexico said, not quite thinking of the words before he spoke, “Thank you for that.” In the mixture of flickering candlelight and moonlight, Mexico could see the glowing smile on the mortal’s face.   
  
If he had been sober, it would have been easier to ignore the emotions that the smile elicited. But, uninhibited as he was, he found himself smiling back. Maximilian said, “I am grateful that you have given me this opportunity.”   
  
When Mexico met the man’s eyes, he realized something terrible: Maximilian didn’t know that he was a puppet. He believed that Mexico had a choice in making him emperor.   
  
He drew in a deep breath as the weight of the realization hit him. Whatever his flaws, the mortal was not complicit in this; he was a man truly convinced that he had the support of the country he rules.  
  
Maximilian spoke again, “I will leave you with your thoughts. But, if worries are still plaguing you, I will be in my study and I will be glad to listen. Good night.” With that, he turned and walked back into the palace.   
  
Mexico let out a breath as he watched the light of the candle fade. The plan he had decided on was already unraveling. It was clear that he would not be able to treat his emperor with any dislike, no matter what he felt for France.   
  
He looked down at the dog in his arms, the one who had led Maximilian to him and so effectively ended his painful contemplation. He said playfully, “Why did you have to make everything hard, you little traitor? I hope you’re proud of yourself.”   
  
The only response he got was an excited yip and a lick across his cheek.  
  
————————————

**The Second Empire**

Mexico rolled over in bed and slowly opened his eyes. It must have been late morning judging by the light coming in from the veranda. The light was bright and pleasantly golden.  
France was next to him, and he appeared to have already been awake for a while. He was propped up on one elbow among the pillows, with his golden waves falling gracefully onto the pillow.   
  
With his effortless, beautiful waves and the sun streaming in behind him, Mexico thought he looked like an angel. But, he thought, an angel didn’t revel in temptation the way that France did. He had never realized exactly how handsome Francis was before, and it struck him in his half-asleep state.   
  
The look in France’s eyes was one of soft affection. Mexico rubbed his eyes and looked up at France. The blonde said, “You look so beautiful, Mexique.”   
  
Mexico smiled up at him, enjoying his handsome face and his soft voice. He said, “You don’t have to call me that.” He reached up and stroked France’s face, feeling the pleasant roughness of his facial hair. He continued, “We’re lovers now. You don’t need to be so formal. You can call me Alejandro.”   
  
France’s face brightened as soon as Mexico said that they were lovers. He had been so patient and after a few nights of intimacy, he finally got to hear the word. Francis said with a smile, opting for the French version, “Alexandre.” He rolled the word on his tongue like it tasted pleasant. He seemed to enjoy being able to have this little extra piece of intimacy.   
  
Then he used the hand that he had not propped himself up with to stroke Mexico’s face and his loose hair on the pillow. France’s long fingers caught in a tangle in Mexico’s dark hair. He paused in his movement and started to gently work the tangle with his fingers. France said, “Your hair is a mess, mon cher.”   
  
Mexico didn’t doubt it with all the exertion of the night before. He had remembered France tangling his fingers through his hair in the throes of passion, and he was sure that had done enough to leave his hair a mess. He responded, “I think that is your fault, Francis.”   
  
France looked proud of the fact that Mexico was right. Mexico felt a bit like a prize that had been won, but at the moment he did not mind. He said, “If you sit up, I will fix the damage.”  
  
He leaned in and said softly in Mexico’s ear, “I promise that you will look beautiful when I am done.”  
Mexico smirked at that. He replied, “I thought I was already beautiful.”  
France chuckled and corrected himself, “More beautiful. Now, sit up and I will brush your hair.”   
  
Mexico nodded and pulled himself up so he was seated with the sheet only loosely covering his lower body. There was no point in pretending at modesty now.  
  
He felt France move closer, and then gently slip his hand into his hair. The feeling of the brush moving through his hair was very pleasant. It was surprisingly gentle, but Mexico realized he should have expected it since France was so gentle in bed too.   
  
He closed his eye and enjoyed the feeling of Francis softly teasing the tangles out of his hair. This was nice, and it helped to soothe his worries about the empire. France was worlds away from Spain’s harshness. This was not the treatment he remembered when he thought of empire.  
  
France spoke, “I am so glad you have given me that chance. I want you to enjoy this.”  
Mexico felt a smile on his own lips, and he said, “I am enjoying you.”   
  
France brushed his hair to one side and laid a soft kiss on Mexico’s neck and said, “This is just the beginning for us, mon cher.”   
  
—————————————-  
  
 **The Second Empire  
**  
Mexico leaned back into the freshly drawn bath and let out a sigh. This felt so nice to let himself relax for a night. He opened his eyes to stare at the dark red rose petals floating in the water. They were beautiful and he could see why France was so fond on the flower. The hot water felt good on his muscles, which had been exerted more often recently.  
  
He let out a long sigh and sank lower into the water. This was a big bath tub, more than enough space for him. He had made the decision to buy one so large because it gave him space to move comfortably and submerge himself without any discomfort. This was his idea of leisure, completely relaxed and content surrounded by steam, candles, and the smell of roses.   
  
He heard a light knock on the door and turned his head to look at who had knocked. He was not surprised to see France leaning ever so slightly into the room with a bemused smile.   
  
He had just left France in the other room not a half an hour earlier. France said, “Do you mind some company?” Mexico smirked and said, “You missed me already?”   
  
He was amused by the thought that France was already wanting more. The blonde took a step into the room, and discretely closed the door behind him. He said, “You may tell me to leave, if you would like.”  
Mexico scoffed in response, “Why? To protect my modesty?”   
  
He laughed to himself at the absurdity of the idea that there was anything left to reveal amused him. They both already knew more than enough about each other’s bodies. France said, patiently, “Because you may want to be alone.”   
  
Mexico thought about it for a moment. He could ask to have this time to himself, but it sounded lonely in the moment. He liked the feeling of having someone there with him. He said, “I don’t want you to leave.”  
  
France smiled like he had anticipated this answer. He walked closer, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he got closer. Then, slowly, he pulled the shirt from his shoulders and dropped it to the ground. His hair was still messy, and it was very sexy.  
  
As France took off his pants, he pulled a bottle from his pocket and placed it on the side of the bath tub. Mexico picked it up as France worked on taking off his pants. He was intrigued with what France had brought him. All of Frances surprises so far had been enjoyable.   
  
He opened the bottle and took an experimental sniff, saying as he did so, “What is this?” Whatever was in the bottle smelled pleasantly of roses.  
  
France gave him a sly smile as he finished taking off the clothing he seemed to have only put on to walk from the bedroom to here. He said, “It’s massage oil.”   
  
Mexico put the top back on and placed it on the side of the tub. He moved to make more room in the bath tub as France stepped into the water. France ran one wet hand through his messy hair, which made it no neater.   
  
Mexico said, still impatient and very curious, “What is the massage oil for?” His mind could come up with several possibilities, but all of them were sexual and he was much too exhausted for that.   
  
France picked up the bottle and said, “I will show you if you turn around.” Mexico gave him one more questioning glance before obliging and turning his back to France.   
  
There was a moment of quiet and then he felt France’s slick hands on his shoulders, slowly starting to knead the muscles. It felt nice and Mexico let out a low groan. He hadn’t noticed how sore his shoulders were until the feeling started to disappear.  
  
France spoke as he slowly worked his way across Mexico’s shoulders, carefully rubbing the tension out of his muscles, “You are going to be sore tomorrow, but this should help. I want to make sure you are comfortable.”   
  
Mexico wasn’t going to complain. He would much rather not be in pain the next day, and what France was doing felt quite nice. He replied, “That is kind of you.”   
  
He hated not being able to see the other man’s face, and knowing how he reacted to the comment. But, the response came softly, “It is my responsibility as your lover to make sure you are happy. If not, we are not making love. Without the care, it is just sex.”  
  
Mexico smiled to himself. None of his other lovers seemed to share that opinion. Alfred had been especially awkward and clumsy after their nights together.   
  
He said, “I don’t think anyone agree with you sentiment.” France audibly scoffed and continued his work, moving down Mexico’s back and masterfully avoiding his tattoo. France said, “I am not surprised that Alfred and Antonio were not gentle. I am a master of my craft.”   
  
Mexico laughed at that. France’s soaring self confidence amused him. No one could accuse France of being a modest man, but he was undoubtedly skilled.   
  
Mexico leaned back as France’s hands traveled lower down his back. Those muscles were undoubtedly the sorest, and the attention was very welcome. He felt France’s lips brush against his neck. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling.  
  
As France’s hands left his back, Mexico settled comfortably against the other man’s chest. He said, keeping his eyes closed, “I think you are very good at this.” France kissed him softly on the forehead, “Thank you, my dear.”  
  
———————————————  
  
 **The Second Empire  
**  
Mexico was open to trying whatever France suggested, since every little game of theirs had been fun. He got a chance to not think of Juarez or Maximilian or the impossible choice they were presented to him. With France inside of him, it was easy to think of nothing else but pleasure. He craved that kind of release.   
  
So, when France pulled him aside after a formal court dinner and said that he had something new he wanted to try, Mexico wasn’t going to say no to it. He let France take him by the hand and lead him to one of the many unused bedrooms in the palace.   
  
Once the door opened, he had some idea of what was different. There was a large mirror set up behind the bed, reflecting the whole surface. Mexico thought for a moment that a mirror that size must have been expensive.  
  
He asked coyly, “What is this all about, Francis?”  
France came closer and put his hands on his hips. He said, “I want you to see yourself the way I see you.”   
  
He pulled him into a kiss that Mexico did not resist. He liked the feeling of folding himself into France’s arms and feeling like Francis was going to treat him well. He closed his eyes and opened his lips to allow France’s tongue to penetrate his mouth. France always tasted good, like sweets and expensive wine.   
  
He had no idea what France could mean by seeing himself differently, but he was going to let it happen. Whatever it was, he was sure he wanted it.  
  
France expertly grabbed the bottom of Mexico’s shirt and pulled it off over his head. He tossed it away and then turned Mexico’s face towards the mirror.   
  
Mexico could see his own lips still slightly parted and a flush in his cheeks. There was something deeply arousing about knowing how he looked when he was giving himself over to pleasure.   
  
France said, lips almost touching his ear, “Do you see how good you look?” Mexico nodded, and saw the handsome, overwhelmed stranger in the mirror nod too.   
  
France’s hands trailed down from his hips onto his butt, and he could see it so clearly. Then France gave his butt a firm squeeze and said, “And your ass is so hot.”   
  
Mexico wanted to find this hot, but his eyes were drawn away from his butt, up to his exposed lower back. There was a scar there that cut from his right shoulder to his left hip like the ugly gash it had once been.   
  
It was where an American soldier had plunged his saber into his back, when Alfred had been too much of a coward to face him himself. It was so ugly, and marred the part of his body that had once been praised. How kind of Alfred to ruin his beauty if he couldn’t have him.   
  
He saw his own face start to fall at the thought. France seemed to see it too, because he said, “You’re looking at it, aren’t you?”   
  
Mexico didn’t have to ask what he was referring to. He had brought up more than once than he didn't like France looking at it or touching it. It was an ugly thing and he did not want to be reminded of it. There was no hiding his insecurity, so he nodded.   
  
France took him by the shoulders and turned him around so that his torso was facing the mirror and his knees were against the edge of the bed. France was right behind him, with his hands still on his shoulders.   
  
He leaned in and traced his tongue along the shell of Mexico’s ear. Mexico saw the flush begin to rise in his cheeks again. France then said, “You are still beautiful. One scar doesn’t change that.”  
  
He kissed his cheek and then his neck. His hands left Mexico’s shoulder and one came to the front of his chest and began to play with one of his nipples. Mexico moaned and his reflection made the most exquisite face. Mexico felt a burgeoning arousal at seeing the way his reflection reacted.  
  
Then, France ran the finger of his free hand over Mexico’s back tattoo. The sensation was incredible and set his skin on fire. He saw himself, through half-lidded eyes, arch his back.  
  
He had never quite realized before how he looked in these moments, and seeing himself like this made him almost understand why his lovers praised his beauty and men had been so insistent on a night with him.   
  
He heard the moan escape his vocal cords. The reflection of France smiled and whispered in his ear, “Do you see now? You are a beauty, and this is how I see you.”  
  
Mexico nodded again, and France gently captured his lips in a long, slow kiss that left Mexico hot all over. He desperately wanted France to continue to touch him and to see how it looked when he did. As France pulled away from the kiss, he said, “Now get on the bed and spread your legs for me.”  
  
————————————  
 **The Second Empire**

Mexico tightened the silk scarf around France’s wrist, making sure that it was secure against the bed post. He ran his finger softly around the place where the pale skin met the red scarf and saw goosebumps bloom on the skin.   
  
He then leaned back so that he was straddling France’s hips. The blonde was looking up at him with his eyes full of longing and lust. He looked so helpless and needy. France was stuck tied to the bed and completely naked, waiting for his lover to act.  
  
Mexico had every intention of savoring this state of affairs. Mexico slowly leaned forward and France arched up towards him, but the bonds limited his movement.   
  
Mexico stopped with his face an inch away from France’s. He could have easily kissed him, but for now he was going to enjoy his advantage. He kept his face close, and gently ran both hands up France’s sides.   
  
He heard to other pull in a sharp, excited breath. France leaned forward, so that he might be able to close the space between them and kiss Mexico. But, as he leaned forward, Mexico leaned back far enough so that he was just out of reach.   
  
France let out a little whine. He said, his head falling back onto the pillow, “You’re a tease.”  
Mexico raised one eyebrow at him and said coyly, “Am I?”   
  
One of his hands found one of the other’s nipples, and he started to play with it gently between his fingers. France let out a breathy moan. Mexico couldn’t deny that he felt a rising arousal at watching France react under his hand, completely helpless to what he chose to do.  
  
He decided that he wanted to continue his little game and seeing how much he could get France to react. He put his lips softly against France’s neck just below the ear. It was a sensitive spot and he had been France’s lover long enough to know it was especially sensitive for France.   
  
The skin of his neck was so soft under his lips as he left light kisses. He drew in a deep breath and his lungs were filled with the smell of roses that clung to France’s hair.   
  
Getting more daring, he gave France’s earlobe a nibble. The moan that France let out sent Mexico’s blood rushing south. He had never realized before how intoxicating it could be to be in control of another man’s reactions. Especially this man. Outside of this room, he still had control of the empire, and Mexico was his dependent. But, in this moment, in bed together they had reversed the roles. Mexico had complete control over him. The mighty empire was as helpless as a kitten, and mewled just as pleasingly.   
  
Mexico’s hand that was not occupied on France’s chest moved further down so that he could feel exactly how hard the blonde was. He gave France’s arousal a teasing stroke and said in his ear, “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” France replied, sounding like he was struggling to speak without moaning, “Yes-“   
  
Mexico ran his fingernails across France’s inner thigh and a groan cut off the rest of what France wanted to say. Mexico felt an impish smile on his face at how amused he was.   
  
When he regained some little bit of his composure, France said “Please just fuck me.”  
Mexico said, as he gave the blonde one more stroke, “Oh, but I am having such fun. If only your hands were free.”   
  
He left another, deeper kiss on France’s neck and then his jaw, where Mexico’s lips met with stubble. He didn’t mind, the roughness against his lips was pleasing.   
  
Finally, he moved his lips to France’s, and finally connected them in the kiss that he had been teasing. He could feel France’s need in the way their lips hungrily fit together and France kissed him like he thought he might pull away again at any moment.   
  
The way that France, even restrained, was pulling at the scarves to get to him was a heady things. It made Mexico feel so needed, so deeply lusted after. He felt like he was powerful and beautiful.   
  
Francis moaned against his lips as he deepened the kiss even further.  
  
Blindly, Mexico reached out in the direction of the bedside table. He was hoping to grab a bottle of oil that they had been using as lubricant. He remembered leaving it there the night before. But, it was difficult to find without looking.  
  
He did not want to part himself from France’s hungry lips. Finally, his hand bumped into it. He blindly grabbed it and only then pulled away from France and said, “Now, I am going to fuck you.”

* * *

**The Porfiriato**

The sun was setting on the day as France looked out from one of the many comfortable spots on the veranda. He as sitting on a daybed tucked against one of the walls. It was a soft spot, and he found himself very impressed with Mexico’s taste in comfortable furniture.

It would have been difficult to find a space to rest in this palace that was not comfortable. The palace was full of places to sit. He assumed it was because of Mexico’s propensity to sleep in the middle of the day.

Either way, it was a comfort after such a long journey from Paris. It was exhausting to go back and forth from Europe.

He wouldn’t usually make such a long trip as often as he did, but he enjoyed seeing Mexico. More and more lately, he missed Mexico in the time between his visits.

Every time Porfirio extended the invitation to him, he took it. It was his choice to see Mexico as often as possible, even if it made him tired.

He had a bottle of wine, a fine vintage, and he poured himself a glass. Mexico also kept a good wine cellar, though it had seemed like it was more empty than usual. He wasn’t going to question it, but it had also not escaped his notice.

He looked out over the city as the sun set. This was a beautiful vista, nearly as beautiful as the man who represented it.

As the thought crossed his mind, Mexico appeared in his peripheral vision. He was still handsome, but he looked like something was draining the life from him.

During the Second Empire he had been so full of life and vitality. It was such a stark change. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a few healing marks on his neck.

France could see the outlines of the dark, possessive bruises, even if they had faded in the middle. They looked to him like marks from a mauling. He knew who was responsible, and that Mexico usually dodged talking about the perpetrator when they were together.

Mexico said, “I assume you would like my company.”

France nodded, and opened his arms invitingly. Mexico was the only reason he was here, and he wanted to be able to hold him.

Certainly he was not visiting for Porfirio, or the ridiculous goal of teaching Mexico culture. The young man didn’t need that at all. He could be very cultured when he chose to be, and France did not need to help him.

What Mexico did need was someone to listen to him, and France knew he could provide that.

Mexico flashed him a flirtatious smile and immediately sat between his legs and leaned back against him. He was sitting with his back flush against France’s chest.

He ran one hand playfully up France’s thigh and said, “What a comfortable little spot you’ve chosen. It’s very intimate.”

He rolled the word off of his tongue seductively, and France had to admit he was tempted by their closeness, and the touch on his leg. He had always found Mexico alluring, and that hadn’t changed.

But at the moment, he didn’t quite want that yet. He wanted to hold the exhausted looking young man and watch the sunset with him.

He responded, “I like the view from here.”

He looked out at the city, and then at Mexico. The young man’s shirt was open except for the bottom two, and France could see a couple of dark patches across his skin.

He hoped they were just shadows from the shirt and the dying light.

Mexico gave him a smirk and said, “You aren’t a bad view either.”

Then he eagerly pressed his lips against France’s. His touch was needy, like he felt it was clear what he wanted and there was no use in pretense. France kissed him back, letting their lips mold together. He put his free hand on Mexico’s cheek and cradled the young man’s face tenderly.

He hoped that Mexico could feel that his touch was more than lust and more than need.

When they parted, Mexico licked his lips and said, “You’re already had wine.”

France continued to hold him as he said, “I did. I opened a bottle. I should have gotten you a glass as well. I will do that if you will get off of me.”

He felt Mexico lean back into him, putting more of his weight on him. He said, with a coy look, “No, stay here. I don’t want you to go anywhere. It’s not a problem.”

With that, he picked up the bottle of wine in one smooth motion. He put the bottle to his lips and took a long drink.

France was slightly shocked at how easily he seemed to down it. He said, “Hold on a moment. Actually taste it.”

Mexico put down the bottle and turned to him, and cuddled closer. He said, “It all tastes the same if you drink enough.”

He then tried his best to smirk charmingly and added, “But we won’t be able to enjoy our night if I have too much, so I will stop.”

He put his hand back on France’s thigh, being utterly unsubtle in his desires. France looked down at his hand, and noticed the dark marks around his wrists.

Those were not so easy to dismiss as anything else. He could see each of the fingers clearly. France felt his heart sink at such a clear mark.

He said, “There is less wine than there was last time I was here. Have you been drinking more?”

Mexico shrugged like it was an uninteresting topic. He answered only once France turned his gaze onto him somewhat sternly.

He said, “I have had a few more glasses every night. It dulls the world.”

France moved his hand to Mexico’s hair and stroked it lovingly. He knew that Mexico was trying to sound nonchalant, but his words betrayed pain. If he was drinking that much, he must be hurt.

Mexico was brilliant and witty and clever, and it was tragic to him that anyone would blunt that with too much wine.

France asked softly, “Is it because of him?”

Mexico shrugged again, somewhat lest convincingly this time. He seemed to want to avoid the subject, like he always did. France usually wouldn’t pressure him, but he needed an answer to all of the bruises.

Mexico answered, his voice tense, “You know it is.”

They had never discussed it, but France was well aware of America’s controlling influence. He knew that it was part of the reason Mexico had chosen their affair, because he craved something that was his own choice.

But, he had never noticed so many bruises before, and he felt like he needed some answer about them. He ran one finger lightly over the bruises on Mexico’s wrist and asked, “And are these because of him too?”

Mexico recoiled, pulling his hand back into his own lap.

He sighed, and France got the distinct sense that he was ruining the moment. But, he wanted Mexico to know that he cared about him beyond their time in the bedroom.

Mexico responded tersely, “Do we have to talk about this? You just got here, and I want to be with you.”

France knew he was pushing Mexico to an uncomfortable subject, but he felt like it would be callous to ignore it. He said, “How did you get these bruises? Please don’t lie to me.”

Mexico moved uncomfortably against him. The question was making him squirm. But, he answered anyway, “Alfred is too strong and he grabs me too hard when we’re together. I bruise easily.”

France felt like he was being lied too, because he could not imagine that anyone would be so careless. He was also certain that Mexico did not bruise easily, or take so long to heal. He felt certain that America was doing it on purpose, because no one would stop him.

He prodded, trying to get the truth out of Mexico, “Is that really all it is?”

Mexico sighed again and said, “He isn’t doing it intentionally. Alfred just doesn't care if he hurts me.”

France wished he could do anything to alleviate the sound of pain in Mexico’s voice. He wasn’t sure what to say back. Instead, he stroked Mexico’s hair in a way that might convey some love.

Mexico turned himself completely around so that he was face to face with France. He said, “Can we not talk about him? He's all I hear about from anyone all day. It’s always about what Alfred wants and how to keep Alfred happy. For once, can we pretend that there is no Alfred. There’s just you and me, and this.”

He took France’s face between his hands and pressed their lips together hard. His own parted like they were willing France to kiss him more deeply.

France could never resist temptation when Mexico offered it. He slipped his tongue between Mexico’s lips. It was such a familiar feeling between them.

He heard Mexico let out a breath like a satisfied sigh at returning to something he understood. France’s hands found Mexico's hips and pulled him into his lap.

Mexico broke the kiss and said, slightly breathless, “Isn’t this better? You don't have to fret over me like you love me.”

The words were a shock. France said, trying to correct the flippant comment, “But I do love you.”

Mexico met his eyes and shook his head. He said, “Don’t tell me lover’s lies, Francis. You don't need them. I’m already yours.”

There was something profoundly empty behind his eyes when he said it. Like he didn't believe it possible that France could be sincere in his conviction. But he was painfully sincere. So sincere that the dark marks on Mexico’s skin hurt his heart.

He could only contemplate the emptiness behind the charm for a moment, because Mexico kissed him again.

He could feel desperation in the touch, like a man begging for the simplicity of something carnal. France was weak for Mexico and he knew it.

It was easy to lose himself in the tactile feeling of their embrace. He loved the way Mexico felt, and the smell of cactus flowers that clung to his hair. He loved the taste of Mexico’s silver tongue against his own.

The friction of the young man’s hips on his own was making his mind hazy. It would be easier, even blissful, to let the conversation end there. He knew how it would feel to let it go and let Mexico do as he wanted.

But, his heart said that he had to make one more effort.

He pulled back from the kiss, which earned him an unhappy whine from Mexico. He said, meeting Mexico’s eyes, “Alejandro, mon cher, I want to help you.”

He could hear how desperate his own voice sounded. He could not find the right words to say that he worried about him all the time when he didn’t hear from him. He wanted to say that it wasn’t about the sex. He wouldn’t spend the time to visit so often if he was only driven by his libido.

But, Mexico looked at him with a kind of empty amusement. He replied, “This does help me. This helps me forget.”

Even through the fog of his own desires, France felt a twinge of pity. If this intimacy was what helped, then he was willing to indulge it. It would satisfy his own lust.

He felt like nothing could be gained from the conversation, since Mexico was pushing him away. Even if he tried, this was not the moment.

Mexico shifted against his lap, effectively derailing France’s train of though in favor of more immediate pleasure.

Mexico said, in a voice that was husky and irresistible, “Please, Francis. Let me forget.”

His lusty, inviting look was too difficult to turn down. France took Mexico’s face in his hands and pulled him into another deep kiss. Even as he gave into the baser desire, the thoughts echoed in his head.

_I love you. Please know that I love you._


	12. Ireland

**1937**

There was the sound of a knock at the door as Spain sat at dinner with Mexico, and it surprised him. As far as he knew, no one was going to pay him a visit in the middle of his Civil war. Everyone he had reached out to had paid him no mind, or had chosen to insert their own interests in his war.

He did not expect any of them to come to see him, since it seemed that none of his European neighbors wanted to give him any aid for any unselfish reason. It seemed incredibly unfair to him that they would all turn their back on him in this moment. They spoke about promoting peace, and then ignored him.

Mexico’s presence was the most soothing part of the situation. Spain felt like there was no way that Mexico would have come back to him if there wasn’t some affectionate feelings between them.

He found himself thinking about each lingering touch. He knew there was something sentimental below the surface, even if Mexico was insisting that he was just at his house to provide aid to suffering civilians.

Though Mexico would not say that he felt affection, Spain felt like he could see it in the meal in front of him. Mexico had taken the time to cook for him, and he could tell that it was made with care. He felt a slight annoyance at whoever was knocking at the door. There was no one in Europe that would visit him to provide aid, so he felt like this must be some attempt to interrupt the only solace he was allowed at the moment.

Mexico looked across the table at him and asked, “Are you expecting someone?”

He must have already known the answer. He had been there long enough to know that no one came to visit, except for Portugal, and he would have sent warning beforehand.

Spain shook his head slowly. He felt the muscles in his back twinge slightly at the movement. It was an unwelcome reminder of the physical toll that the war was taking on his body. He was distinctly aware of how reliant he was on Mexico. He said shortly, “No, I’m not.”

The other raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, that’s surprising. I’ll get the door.”

He stood up, and left to open the door. As he did, Spain took the opportunity to look at his body. He was so incredibly handsome, even more so now that he was so muscular. His butt looked particularly good, and Spain’s mind slipped to all the times he had been free to touch Mexico - then New Spain - as much as he pleased.

He remembered all those spots that had made the boy squirm and moan. If he had his strength and the opportunity, he would take Mexico to bed again. But, he knew his own weakness would not allow it. He told himself that he could wait for a few weeks, when he would be stronger.

The sound of the door broke through his thoughts of bygone days when he could have what he wanted. He listened intently to try to figure out who was at the door.

Mexico spoke first, “Oh, it’s you!”

He sounded pleasantly surprised by whoever it was. Perhaps it was Portugal, and he had just forgotten to give warning. Mexico always seemed quite happy to see Portugal, and Spain had figured out the reason. He knew his brother had aided Mexico’s independence, and it seemed to have formed a bond between them.

But, then a voice answered, “It’s been too long since we saw each other. Can I come in?”

That was not Portugal’s voice. It wasn’t a voice he knew either. It was heavily accented Spanish, but he couldn’t place the accent.

He wanted to yell from where he was sitting, and tell whoever it was to go away. But, before he could say anything, Mexico made the invitation, “Of course. Come in.”

Spain sighed to himself, frustrated that this stranger was about to rob him of a perfectly good night with Mexico.

Then Mexico appeared again, followed by a man with flaming red curls, and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was wearing a jacket with a green, white, and orange ribbon pinned in his lapel.

It took Spain a moment to realize that he did know who this was, though he had not seen him in a very long time. Mexico spoke, “Tony, I assume you know Ireland.”

The redhead helped himself to a place at the table, with an audacity that Spain did not like. But, he replied anyway, “Yes, I know him.” Ireland chuckled and said, “I should hope so. You funded more than one of my risings."

Spain remembered that he had supported Ireland several times against England. His reason had always been to weaken his greatest enemy. He had never really had many conversations with the man. He had always been a means to an end, an enemy to exploit within England’s own family.

Spain tried to be pleasant when he said, “I’m always willing to support those who keep the true faith.”

He saw Mexico raise an eyebrow at the canned response, but it did not seem like Ireland minded much. Mexico instead turned to the newcomer and said, “Have you eaten yet? Would you like some dinner?”

Spain thought he sounded a bit too anxious to extend hospitality. Ireland replied, “I got off of the ship and came straight here. I haven’t eaten since this morning.” Mexico said immediately, “Then you must eat with us. I insist. I will get you a plate.”

He then vanished to the other room for a moment. Spain watched him leave with mounting confusion. He knew that Mexico was capable of hospitality and caring, but he seemed far too keen to take care of Ireland.

The other man in the room, for his part, was just looking at Spain. Then he opened his mouth and said, “You look like shit, if I may say so.” Spain tried not to glare back as he replied, “Civil wars are painful, and this one is tearing me up.”

Ireland responded with a good-natured smile and said, “Then it is fortunate that you aren’t alone.”

Before Spain had to try to muster a response, Mexico returned with another plate in his hand. He served a generous helping of food to the Irishman. Ireland replied with a smile, “How kind of you.”

He got a matching smile in return, a smile that Spain had not seen on Mexico’s face for a while. Spain watched with a growing sense of annoyance. He didn’t like these looks at all

Mexico asked, “Do you want wine? There is already an open bottle.” The redhead gave him a smile and said, “Have you ever known me to say no to alcohol?”

Mexico chuckled and poured him a glass. Spain made a note of the familiarity in the answer. They knew each other. He would guess that they knew each other quite well from Mexico’s apparently friendly demeanor.

Mexico’s eyes did seem to linger for a moment too long on Ireland’s face before he returned to his seat.

Spain felt himself getting angry at the intruder. He hadn’t asked for there to be someone else present to draw more of Mexico’s attention. The food even felt less special now that he had to share.

Mexico made the feeling worse by immediately turning to Ireland and saying, “So, what are you doing here, Aedan? This is a pleasant surprise.” He didn't look at all unhappy about Ireland’s presence. Spain added, "I would like to know that as well.”

He heard his own bitterness in the cutting tone of the comment. But, Ireland seemed to ignore it as he answered, “Officially I am not supposed to be here. My government does not want the involvement, and I’m supposed to be playing nice with my brother for a while.”

He took a moment to pause and take a drink of wine. The answer didn’t seem to make sense to Spain. That was a reason for neutrality.

But, he continued, “But, I wanted to offer help informally if I can. I can't resist the cause of freedom and right.”

Mexico was smiling at him as he said it, and then he responded, “More help is certainly welcome.”

Ireland turned his eyes to Mexico and said, “I heard from Arthur that Phillip told him that you were here. Not the news I was expecting, as you can imagine.” Mexico scoffed, “Can no one on this continent keep a secret?” Ireland replied, “I’m afraid not.”

Spain felt like he only tangentially a part of the conversation, even though it was happening at his own table. He took a drink of his own wine, which the interloper was also partaking in.

Apparently oblivious to Spain’s prickly demeanor, Mexico said, “So, did you come to see me?” The corner of his mouth twitched up like he enjoyed the idea.

Ireland gave him a knowing smirk and said, “Aye, I had to check to see if that damned bleeding heart of yours had gotten you into trouble.”

Spain immediately resented the idea that anything about helping him might get Mexico in trouble. It was a good deed done out of love. It was not hard to understand. Mexico replied, “I can’t resist doing the right thing either.”

Ireland looked at him tenderly and said, “I know you can’t.”

Spain cleared his throat pointedly to remind them of his presence. Mexico turned with his usual grace and said, “After all, Tony is glad to have me here. Aren’t you?”

The dinner continued in much the same fashion. Spain was sure that he was not imagining the looks between Mexico and Ireland.

If he was an empire, this would have been easy to deal with. He would have dragged Mexico to a private room and remind him who he belonged to. But those days were gone and he could not do anything.

He hated the way that Mexico laughed whenever Ireland made a joke. They weren’t even amusing enough to warrant that reaction. It was grating on Spain’s nerves.

As they neared the bottom of the bottle of wine, Spain began to feel tired and weak. He hated the fatigue that this civil war had brought him.

He yawned, and the sound was enough for Mexico to glance over at him. Spain immediately wished that he had done something to draw his attention earlier.

He said, genuinely concerned, “Are you tired, Tony?” He checked his watch and added, "It is getting late. You should sleep.” Spain nodded, and said, “Help me to bed, Ale.”

He extended his hand like it was not already clear what he waned. Mexico poured the rest of the wine into Ireland’s glass, and said, "I'll be right back.”

Then he took Spain's hand and pulled him gently to his feet. Spain leaned against him heavily, only slightly exaggerating how hard he had to work to stay upright. He enjoyed the way that Mexico slipped an arm around his waist to support him.

It soothed his sense of frustration at how inattentive the man had been to him. Spain liked being able to touch him. It reminded him that Mexico was still his in a way.

Mexico took him to the nearest bedroom, which he had been using for the convenience, and helped him gently into bed. Mexico said, “Call for me If you need me.”

Spain enjoyed hearing it. His former colony was willing to be there for him, as long as he was in need of aid. He drifted off thinking about how nice it would be when their uninvited guest left and it was just him and Mexico again.

\--------------------

Spain stirred uncomfortably in bed. He could fall asleep comfortably in one position, but when he moved, his muscles all hurt again. He let out a pained groan and opened his eyes.

It would take some effort to roll himself back into a comfortable position, and he didn’t want to do it just yet. As he laid in bed, he could swear that he could hear music.

It was strange; he wouldn’t expect anyone to be playing music at this hour. It was curious, and he tried to think of whether there was even an instrument in the house.

After a moment, he remembered.

Mexico’s old guitar was still in his room, and the music did sound like someone playing a guitar and singing. He could not make out the words, but he heard the voice. But, he had not seen Mexico touch a guitar in a very long time.

Curious, he decided to get up and find the music. It took effort to get himself out of bed, and to stand. But, he managed it.

It seemed that the music was coming from the veranda outside of his window. He made it to the widow, and pushed the curtain aside.

He hoped to catch a glimpse of Mexico playing when he thought no one was listening. But, what he saw was that Ireland had the guitar in his lap, and seemed to be finishing a song.

The man said after he finished, “That’s my new song for my brother. What do you think?”

Spain could hear them surprisingly well through the window, but he opened the window slightly so he could hear even better. Mexico replied, “I like it. It’s cutting.” Then, Ireland smiled and put the guitar aside, “I don’t think Artie will find it as funny as you do.” Mexico replied, “Do empires ever have a sense of humor?”

Spain felt distinctly like he was being talked about, and it made him bristle. Ireland patted his empty lap like an invitation. He added, “I already know you want to. You are allowed as long as you don’t fall asleep.”

For a second, Spain had absolutely no idea what he could be offering, and his mind started conjuring possibilities that made his blood boil. But, the question was answered when Mexico laid down with his head in Ireland’s lap.

The Irishman immediately started to stroke Mexico’s hair. Mexico said, with a smirk, “It’s a compliment if I do. I sleep on all of my friends.” Ireland responded with a laugh, “I know, but I won’t get my arm back until morning if you do. I remember how you are.”

Spain did not like the implication that they had slept together before at all. It put Mexico’s sudden affability in a new light.

Ireland paused for a minute and looked at Mexico’s face with an expression of tenderness that Spain could easily see, even with the low light. Then, Ireland asked more seriously, “Are you tired from taking care of him?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Mexico said, “I am. But I don’t sleep much anyway. I would rather not have the nightmares.”

Ireland twined his fingers in Mexico’s dark hair lovingly. He then said, “Do you still have nightmares about Alfred? About that war?”

Mexico seemed to nod, though it was hard to see from Spain’s vantage point. But he confirmed it when he said, “They’re rare, but I do.” Ireland replied, “I wish I could have done more. I wish my men had been enough.”

His voice sounded strained by emotion. Mexico closed his eyes and said, “Are you worried about me?”

Ireland responded, “I have been worried about you since 1911. You were gone, and not even Philip could tell me if you were alive and well. Where did you go?”

There was a very long silence. Spain held his breath. He had the same question, but had not dared push his luck by asking. He had been worried too when he heard that Mexico had disappeared into a civil war. If Ireland could get the answer that he could not, then he would take it as a very damning sign of the difference in their relationships.

Mexico finally said, “I was running from my demons and trying to find a better republic along the way.”

It was a cryptic answer, but Spain expected nothing else. He knew that Mexico had not told anyone about the years he had been gone.

Ireland replied with seriousness, “And did you outrun them? You’re here helping a man who hurt you.”

Spain felt an angry flush in his cheeks. Was that all someone saw from the outside? Could they not see that Mexico felt affection for him? He hoped that Mexico would say exactly that when he responded.

But, Mexico said, “I think I did. I’m not forgiving Antonio by being here. I’m just helping civilians who are stuck in this war. You would not believe the horrors I saw during the Revolution. I don’t believe God helps the helpless, so someone must.”

It was a strangely noble sentiment, and not at all what Spain expected to hear. Ireland replied, “I know the pain of war too. But please do not hurt yourself to be a saint. You’re one of the best men I have ever known already.” Mexico said in response, “I promise I won’t.”

There was another long pause and then Ireland said, “I know you do not see eye to eye with the church, but would you go to mass with me in the morning?”

Spain knew the answer to that one. He had asked once already, and Mexico had said bluntly that he would not set foot in a Spanish church again. The institution sickened him, so he had said.

He waited for the inevitable response. Mexico said, “For you, I can do it. Just don’t ask me to go to confession. I have nothing I will be sorry to the church for.”

Spain felt genuine anger at that. Why would Mexico do that for another man but not him?

Ireland replied, “That’s a deal.” Mexico added, “You know, I still have the rosary you gave me. The one with the medallion of Saint Jude.” Ireland nodded and said, “Patron saint of lost causes. May he bless me one day with Independence.”

Spain was certain that this was the most he had ever heard Mexico speak about faith. The man usually treated his faith as a very private matter. He felt a twinge of jealousy at the idea that Mexico would not share any of it with him.

Mexico said, suddenly, “I should check on Antonio one more time before I fall asleep.”

Spain realized that if he was found by the window, Mexico would know that he was listening.

He pulled the window closed quickly, and closed the curtain. Then he made his way back into bed, and pulled the blankets over himself only a minute before Mexico opened the door.

Spain feigned waking up, and groaned like he was in pain. He was sure that would bring Mexico to his bedside.

Mexico said, “Tony, do you need anything?”

Too bitter to mask his own feelings, Spain said, “Now you have time for me. Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”

Mexico looked at him for a moment, and then said, “What do you mean by that?” Spain bit his lower lip, trying to decide what to say. Then it seemed to dawn on Mexico and he said, “You’re jealous of Aedan. It’s been a while since I had to deal with you being jealous.”

Spain let his feelings show on his face as he replied, “You like him. It’s obvious.”

He didn’t get the response he wanted, since Mexico immediately laughed, “You caught me. I have a friend. How dare I?”

Spain clenched his jaw firmly and said, “You want to be more than friends.”

He wanted to see Mexico react with some shame, like he would have when he was a colony. But, instead Mexico sat on the edge of the bed and fixed his eyes on him.

Then, speaking very clearly, he said, “Maybe I do. But I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours, Tony.”

Spain swallowed back his retort. He couldn’t admit that he was already thinking about Mexico as his again.

Mexico continued, “What do you think this is? Do you think that I am here because I want you back?”

Spain refused to confirm that it was true. But he had a feeling that he betrayed the thought on his face, because Mexico said, “I’m not. I’m here because I pity you and your people. That is all.”

Spain finally managed to speak, “I don’t believe that is all this is. You say that, but I don’t believe it.”

Mexico shook his head and said, “Of course you do. Let me be perfectly clear: I like men. I like a lot of different men. But it has not been your business which men I like since 1810. I'm not going to ignore someone who has been good to me because you have some delusion that I am going to take you back."

Spain wanted to say something, but he knew Mexico would not listen. He never wanted to hear anything about Spain’s love for him. Instead, Spain bit his lip and sank into the pillows.

Mexico said pointedly, "Good night. I will be in the other room with Aedan if you need anything.”


	13. Maya

**Before the Conquest**

Maya carried his son in his arms, though the child had already mastered the art of walking of the own. He selfishly did not want to let his precious baby grow up. Before long he knew that Mexica would be running and playing with other boys, then Aztec would put a spear in his hand and teach him how to use it. All those things would be glorious in their own rights, but he wanted to enjoy his son still being this small.  
  
Mexica was holding onto him with both hands and Maya couldn’t think of anything more comforting than the heat of the little body against him. They walked into the gardens and Mexica said, “Papa, are you gonna tell me about the sky people?”   
  
Maya chuckled at his son’s childish understanding of the divine. He corrected gently, “My dear son, they are more than people, they are the gods.” Mexica nodded and cuddled more closely to his father. Maya wasn’t certain how much Mexica understood, but he was young and he could always learn more as he grew up. It was enough that he loved the stories and listened attentively. The grandness of death and life that were dictated by the gods were not a part of his everyday, and there was no reason that it should concern him.  
  
Once they reached the perfect spot, where they could see the sky. Then he sat, holding his son protectively. Then, he very slowly leaned back, making sure not to move so suddenly that it would be uncomfortable for little Mexica. Once he reclined, he looked down at his son, who was on his chest.   
  
Once he was certain that they were both comfortable, Maya pointed to the sky and found the first recognizable constellation. It took him very little time since the night sky was very familiar to him, it dictated fates and he needed to know it. He pointed to a grouping of three stars in the sky and said, “Do you see that? That is the Heart of the Sky. You can see that there is a great snake there that circles continually.”  
  
He felt Mexica nod against his chest and he heard him say, “I see it.”  
Maya continued, “That dictates the cycles of the world. When the planets pass through those space through the coils of the snake, then the world starts anew.”  
  
As he spoke, he patted his son gently on the back. He wanted to express his love with the touches and the care with which he was trying to explain the heavens. He hoped that Mexica understood.  
  
He moved his gaze further away from the center of the sky to a pair of constellations that carried a very interesting story. He thought it would be very entertaining for his young boy. He said, “Do you remember when I told you about the god who created the world and gave us maize? And how he was murdered?”  
Mexica responded, his inquisitive golden eyes looking up at Maya, “Yes, Dada.”  
  
He was an attentive student for his age, and Maya suspected that he understood more than he said. When he got old enough, Maya already planned to teach him all the necessary skills to be an empire, and he hoped that the inquisitive nature would not fade.  
  
He continued to speak, “Those are his sons, they are twins. They journeyed to the underworld and brought back their father.”  
Mexica said, his eyes fixed on his father, “I would do that for you, Dada,” He said it with an absolute conviction that brought a smile to Maya’s face.  
  
Maya replied, “Would you?” Mexica’s eyes were very serious when he said, “I would, because I love you, Dada.”   
  
The words brought happy tears to Maya’s eyes, and he couldn’t find the words to express how he felt except to pull his son into a hug and said, “I love you more than the world."


	14. Mexico

**The War for Independence  
  
** Mexico wrote the last words of the final draft of the letter and leaned back to let the ink dry. Guerrero was sitting at his side, with one arm casually on the back of Mexico’s chair. They had ceased any sense of propriety after the third draft of the letter. Mexico turned to his general and said, “Are you happy with it yet?”   
  
Guerrero leaned forward, and as he did so his arm touched Mexico’s shoulders. Mexico was distinctly aware of the contact, and he wished for a moment that Guerrero would just wrap his arms around him and hold him. It sounded so good to have the man wrap him up in his arms. He put the feeling down to being tired and being alone together.  
  
Guerrero said, after he had read through the draft of the letter, “I think this one is sufficient.”   
Mexico said, leaning back, “I am glad. You have been very particular. I want you to be comfortable with this.”   
  
Guerrero did not move his arm, even though he could certainly feel Mexico against it. Instead of acknowledging the contact, he said, “I don’t think I will ever be completely comfortable with this, Ale.”  
  
Mexico imagined that he felt the other’s arm tighten around him. He spoke, addressing what Guerrero had said, “What are you scared of, Vicente?” He needed to know why the meeting with Iturbide was making his general so uncomfortable, he wanted to assuage it. He wanted to be certain that he was not opposed to this plan.  
  
Guerrero hesitated for a moment before he finally said, “I think he is going to hurt you. He cannot be trusted.”   
Mexico smiled slightly and said, “I don’t trust him. That is why I told you about this. I don’t want you to doubt me.”   
  
Guerrero met his eyes, and there were so many unspoken feelings in the depths of his eyes. He said, staying cautious, “I don’t doubt you. I trust you more than anyone else.”   
  
Mexico leaned closer, he wanted to have the other’s complete attention. He felt his heart skip an unbidden second. He fought down the feeling, because he could not let Guerrero see how deeply he felt. He couldn’t let him see about how his mind was flitting to how it might feel nice to be held by someone who protected him so selflessly. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “Then why are you so worried? I won’t let anything happen. It’s just a conversation.”  
  
Guerrero mirrored his lean and Mexico was suddenly aware of how close together they were. It did nothing to stop the thought of how good it would be to touch his general. Guerrero said, his voice was different, like he was telling an important secret, “I have thought so many times about when you tried to leave, and how it felt to almost lose you. I have thought about how if I had been even a little too late, you would have been gone.”  
  
Mexico reached out and took his general’s hand in his own. He did not want to cause this worry; he regretted that moment more than anything thus far in the insurgency. He had hoped not to cause Guerrero any pain, and he had not thought it through. He said, trying to be comforting, “I am so grateful that you did stop me.”   
  
Guerrero responded slowly, his eyes flitting down to Mexico’s hand on his, “I felt something incredible then, I had never been more certain that I would rather die than let you go. I had never felt that before.”   
  
Mexico felt like the conversation was drifting further from the original point, but he did not mind. He had not heard a confession this honest from the man before, and Guerrero was usually so forthcoming with his thoughts. He thought back to that morning and the way that he had felt when their eyes had met. Had it been mutual? The thought was too incredible and it did not seem likely.   
  
Mexico would not assume the stirring emotion in his heart was shared, and he dared not voice it. So, he only said, “I did too. I knew that you would give your whole heart for my cause.”   
  
He felt Guerrero’s arm tighten around him in the way he had been wishing for. It sent a pleasant, comforting warmth across his body, it was different than anything he had felt with a lover before. It did not feel like lust, more like being perfectly content. Guerrero spoke again, his voice little more than a whisper now, “My heart is yours, and it always be. I’ve never felt this way about another man before; I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”  
  
Mexico’s heart skipped several beats at what he thought he had just heard. He rejected the idea that it could be a confession of love. But then the mortal pulled his hand away from his and put it lovingly on Mexico’s face. All doubts and rationalizations disappeared from his mind, and he couldn’t bring any words to his lips.   
  
Guerrero guided his face with care towards him, and touched their lips. It was barely a kiss, just a touch of their lips, but Mexico felt pleasant tingles spread from the spot. He hadn’t realized how much he had been craving exactly this, but in the moment he did not want to stop.   
  
Much to his displeasure, Guerrero pulled away and tried to speak, “I shouldn’t have done that. If you want to leave, I understand.”   
Mexico shook his head. He was already on fire with this foreign, sweet sensation and he wanted more. He said, “No, no. I want this.”   
  
The mortal’s eyes widened in shock, like he hadn’t expected his impulsive gesture to be tolerated, let alone welcomed. Without waiting for a reply that might not come, Mexico leaned back in and kissed the mortal more forcefully. Now that he knew that Guerrero wanted this contact, he would not hold back.  
  
The mortal pulled him closer, and Mexico enjoyed it immensely, it felt natural to be close. Mexico ran his hand up his general’s face, and he felt the curls of Guerrero’s sideburns under his hand. He heard the other let out a moan as he deepened the kiss. Mexico felt like he was melting against the other man; it was so different from each of his lovers.   
  
He had to pull away eventually to take a breath. Guerrero was now holding onto his shoulders tightly, and when Mexico pulled out of the kiss, Guerrero’s other hand returned to his face. He felt like the man was holding him like something valuable but fragile.   
  
He finally said, “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”   
Mexico smirked and said the first thing that came to mind, “I have three hundred more years of practice, remember?”  
Guerrero chuckled and said, “And have you had three hundred years of lovers?”   
  
Mexico was about to respond with something witty, since it seemed like a waste of time to actually discuss it. But before he could say anything, Guerrero said, “Never mind, I do not want to think of who else you have kissed. I just want to be here with you tonight.”   
Mexico smiled and said, “You can have that.”  
  
Then he leaned in again and kissed the mortal’s lips. This time he felt no hesitation in Guerrero’s touch. Their lips molded together like they were meant to fit against each other, and Mexico let the other take control. He felt no danger or reservation in letting someone who had always protected him have some control over him.   
  
But, it was not enough just to have their lips touching. Where Guerrero’s hands were touching him, on his shoulder and on his face, there was a pleasant warmth unlike anything he had felt at the hands of anything else. It was different, sweeter. But it made the rest of his body long for that touch.  
  
It wasn’t enough just to lock lips and hold him close. Mexico’s heart was pounding in his chest, telling him with every beat to push further. He pulled away again, but kept touching the other as much as he could. The arms of the chairs between them were so conspicuous. Mexico had the urge to pull himself into his general’s lap and press himself against his chest. He was distinctly aware of how long it had been since the last time he was even kissed. His body felt like it was starved for touch, and all sense of caution deserted him.  
  
He said, his eyes locking on Guerrero’s , “I want you to hold me. I need you to touch me.” He expected that the other might pull away from him, possibly repulsed by the idea of moving so quickly.   
But instead, Guerrero brushed his lips against Mexico’s one more time and said, “And I want to touch you.”   
  
Mexico kissed him lightly one more time before standing up. He pulled off his jacket as quickly as he could and threw it over the back of the chair, barely caring so long as the clothing was off of his body. Guerrero stood too, and with incredible gentleness, wrapped his arms around Mexico. He ran one hand down Mexico’s chest, and he looked mesmerized by what he could see it just under Mexico’s thin shirt.   
  
The country said, “What is so incredible?"   
Guerrero replied with an almost shy smile, “You are. I have thought about what you look like under your clothing.”   
  
The revelation made Mexico think about all the times he had caught the man staring at him. It had never crossed his mind that there had been other feelings beneath the surface.  
  
He smiled teasingly and replied, “Well, then let me show you.”   
He reached down and pulled off his shirt so that Guerrero could see his chest without any impediment. The mortal gasped quietly and Mexico was surprised that his physique could get that reaction. But, it all became clear when Guerrero said, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”  
  
His eyes were on the band around Mexico’s upper arm. Mexico said, "I have more than one. Do you want to see the other?”   
  
Guerrero nodded.  
  
Mexico turned around so that the mortal could see the eagle across his shoulder blade. There was another audible gasp and Mexico felt Guerrero run his finger over the skin just under the tattoo as he said, “It’s beautiful.”   
  
He smiled, though he knew that the mortal could not see his face from that angle. It felt intimate to share something as important as this. He said, “My mother gave them to me, and Antonio could never erase them.”   
Guerrero touched Mexico’s shoulder and he said, “I love them; I love what they mean. You are so much more than I could ever have hoped for.”   
  
Mexico turned back around to face his general, and said the words immediately in his heart, “No, you are my hero. I’ve been alive over three hundred years and I have never met anyone like you.” He leaned in and kissed Guerrero again, this time pulling himself against the taller man’s chest. Guerrero’s arms tightened around him, holding him tightly.   
  
Mexico felt his heart pounding, he felt protected and loved. The mortal’s hand brushed against the tattoo on his back and Mexico moaned and let himself melt against the taller man. Mexico was burning, and it was so sweet.  
  
He could not think of anywhere he would rather be than wrapped up in those arms. Guerrero started pulling off his own shirt, so that it was just skin against skin. Taking deep breaths, the mortal pulled away and said, “Ale, let me take you to bed.”   
  
His eyes were so sincere and there was love in the depths that stirred Mexico so deeply. He didn’t think for a moment to refuse. He said, “Yes, I would like that.”  
  
Within minutes, they were in bed, and Guerrero paused for a moment. He bit his lower lip and then spoke again, “I have never done this with another man. I don’t know what to do.”   
Mexico touched his face and said, “Don’t worry. We will figure it out. Just do what feels right. I trust you.”   
  
The mortal nodded, though he still felt nervous, and began to kiss down Mexico’s chest, then his abdomen. The touch was so light, and so careful, yet full of passion. It was better, than every other lover, even though it was clumsy and unsure. It was so true, and so incredibly new. Mexico surrendered himself to the feeling, and let himself fall into it.  
  
An hour later, there were pieces of clothing scattered across the floor where they had been thrown out of the bed, and the two of them were laying together. Mexico was asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around his general. His head was resting on the mortal’s chest, and his dark hair, which was usually pulled back into a low ponytail, was splayed out behind him.  
  
Guerrero was looking at him and stroking the loose hair. Mexico looked so handsome like this, stripped of everything that had been imposed on him by Spain. Guerrero stroked his lover’s hair and traced his jaw. He couldn’t quite believe that this beautiful man was his to protect, and he couldn’t stand the thought of him being anything but free. He deserved that much; he deserved to be free and to be as strong as he had the potential to be.  
  
Mexico mumbled in a language Guerrero did not understand and pulled himself even closer. The mortal felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He knew there was still a letter to a man that he neither trusted nor liked that would be sent in the morning. It would invite another into their lives that could complicate them. But, in the moment he was perfectly content. He held onto Mexico and let himself fall asleep.  
  
Mexico woke in the morning with a warm feeling in his chest; he still felt the glow of the night before. He turned to his side, but the bed next to him was empty. His heart dropped at the idea that he had dreamt it all, but he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t in his own bed.   
  
He sat up and looked over. Guerrero was already dressed and seemed to be busying himself with picking up items and putting them down again. It was purposeless and obviously frantic. Mexico did not understand it, though he did recognize that it came from guilt. He thought of the way he used to react when he was with Brazil and the guilt over the affair drove him to get some distance. The thought caused him physical pain. The night had been so satisfying for him, and the thought that it had caused Guerrero guilt really hurt.   
  
He said, trying not to let on how he felt, “Vicente, is something wrong?”   
Guerrero turned to him, finally letting his hands be still. He said, “I shouldn’t have seduced you. If you don’t trust me after this, I understand.” He had obviously been fixating on the idea that Mexico would be mad when he woke up about what they had done. This seemed like a prepared response.  
  
The mortal, apparently realizing that Mexico was still completely undressed, looked away. But, the country refused to be ignored or turned away with a prepared answer. He spoke again, “Come sit with me.” It sounded like a command, but he didn’t know if it would be heeded. But, as he had hoped, Guerrero came and sat by him on the bed.   
  
Once he was there, Mexico said, “You did not seduce me. I chose to be with you.”  
He reached over and took the mortal’s hand. Guerrero did not pull away, though he did not look directly at Mexico yet. He said, “So, you aren’t angry with me for it?” He added, with a dry chuckle, “I wasn’t even very good.”   
  
Mexico put his hand under the other man’s chin, and turned his face toward him. He wanted Guerrero to see the sincerity in his eyes when he said, “I’m not angry at all. It was wonderful, and I do not regret it. Do you?”   
  
The mortal slowly shook his head.   
  
Mexico did not let this stand alone; he said, “And do you love me?”   
  
It was a hard question, but they had confessed as much last night. He just wanted to hear the words explicitly. Guerrero finally turned his head to meet Mexico’s eyes, and he said, “I do, more than I have ever loved anyone.”   
  
Mexico replied completely honestly, “And I love you too. That’s all that matters.”   
  
He pulled his general into one more kiss to show that everything would be alright.  
——————————————  
 **The War for Independence  
**  
Mexico was laying in bed, already completely unclothed next to his general. Guerrero was already undressed as well, and Mexico had enjoyed helping him remove his clothing after a long day.   
  
The room was unfamiliar, since they were on campaign and this was yet another building they had taken over for the night. At least this time it was a building instead of a tent in-between two towns. This at least had a bed instead of a cot, and a door they could close to be sure of privacy.  
  
Guerrero was stroking his upped arm as he laid staring at him, occasionally touching the tattoo and sending warm, racing sparks across Mexico’s body.  
  
It had been a long day’s ride, but not so long that they couldn’t pull each other’s clothing off once the door was closed. Mexico liked the slow, comfortable intimacy of their own exhaustion.   
  
But, now that they had some actual privacy, he wanted more. It was so rare that they were able to have this kind of privacy, and he wanted to make the most of it.   
  
As Guerrero kissed him softly again, he felt himself make a contented sound in the back of his throat. He ran his own hand over Guerrero’s bicep, feeling the solid muscles under the skin. He loved the way the man was built, so strong and solid.   
  
He said, as Guerrero’s lips left his own, “I want you tonight.” The other man smiled and ran his hand over the tattoo again, which made Mexico’s body feel warm and needy all over. Guerrero said, “I want you too.”  
  
He pressed his lips against Mexico’s again, still sweet but harder. Mexico felt so different from any other kisses, this gave him a kind of sweet heat. He felt like he could bask in this forever. Guerrero added, “I want you on top of me.”  
  
He brushed a piece of hair out of Mexico’s face and continued, “I am tired, love. But I do want you tonight. I also love seeing the way your hips bounce on top of me.”   
  
The single vulgar phrase sent a thrill down Mexico’s spine. He adored when Guerrero would speak to him in these dirty terms when it was just the two of them alone together. He smiled back and said, “I would love to.”  
  
Guerrero silently offered him his fingers to him and Mexico took them into his mouth. He tried to coat them well with spit, since it was all they had for lubricant in the moment.  
  
Then, Mexico got up on his knees and allowed Guerrero to prepare him quickly. As he got up, the sheet and blanket fell off his back, leaving him completely exposed. The practiced motion of preparation came easily to them, and Mexico groaned in pleasure as the fingers found the right spot. He shifted his hips to bury the fingers a little deeper against that spot.  
  
Guerrero took away the hand and Mexico knew exactly what to do next. He lowered himself slowly onto the other man, breathing out slowly through his nose as he did. The feeling was very good, but he also knew better than to be over eager and force it.   
  
He watched Guerrero’s face as he reacted to the friction. There was a wonderful look of bliss on his face. It was such a handsome look on his features.  
  
Mexico started to move, slowly at first. He knew what he was doing, and he was fully determined to drive his lover to the edge with his slow, controlled movement. After such a long day, they both deserved prologued pleasure.   
  
Guerrero’s hands tightened on his hips, like they were begging him not to stop. Mexico moaned as he slowly increased his speed. His mind was totally focused on what he was doing.   
  
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.  
  
Guerrero put one hand over Mexico’s mouth to stop any moaning. A voice came from the other side of the door, “General?”   
  
With some difficulty, Guerrero sat up and said in Mexico’s ear, “Shhh” Then, he cleared his throat and said, “What is it?”   
  
The man on the other side of the door replied, and sounded like he had not noticed anything, “There is important news.”   
  
Mexico was getting restless being perfectly still while the other was still deep inside of him. He wanted to keep going exactly as they had been. He hoped that the man would go away and not think he could open the door.   
  
Guerrero said, trying to sound composed, “Can it wait for morning?”   
  
Mexico hoped that it would. Leaving this unfinished would be so unfulfilling. There was a long silence, where Guerrero glanced at Mexico.   
  
Finally, the soldier said, “Yes, it can.”   
  
Guerrero nodded, though only Mexico could see him. He said to the soldier, “I will tend to it then.”   
  
There was the sound of retreating footsteps. After another minute, he removed his hand from Mexico’s mouth.   
  
Mexico immediately began to laugh. It was so absurd that they had been able to pretend that nothing was happening, when they had still been in such an intimate embrace.  
  
He caught his breath and said to Guerrero, “That was close.”   
Guerrero was smiling and shaking his head. He said, “I must make it clearer when I don’t want to be interrupted,”   
  
Mexico kissed him on the cheek, “Shall I continue or will we be interrupted again?” Guerrero chuckled, “I think we have privacy. Please continue.”   
  
—————————  
 **The War of Independence  
**  
Mexico was laying on his bed, slightly drunk from the wine that he had taken from the large collection that Spain had left behind when he left. Guerrero was laying next to him, looking in his eyes. Mexico hadn’t been back in this bed for ten years, since he had left to join Hidalgo’s rebellion.  
  
Now, he felt happier than he could remember being since he was a child. The wine had dulled any anxiety for the night, and he was busy watching the melting shades of brown in Guerrero’s eyes.   
  
The other man touched his hair lightly and tucked it behind his ear. It was slowly falling out of the ponytail that he kept it in, leaving messy strands loose around his face. Guerrero said, “It’s your first night of freedom. What do you want to do?”   
  
Mexico could feel that the three glasses of strong Spanish wine had gone to his head, leaving him in no mood to mince his words. He bit his lower lip and looked down at Guerrero’s body.  
  
Then he said, “I want to feel your dick inside me.”   
Guerrero chuckled as he pulled Mexico’s body flush against his own. He said, teasingly, “Such dirty words. How did a well-bred man like you learn to talk like that?”   
  
Mexico laughed as well. He found the question so amusing, because Guerrero knew the answer. He said, “I have spent too much time with soldiers.”   
  
He felt Guerrero pull him into a kiss, and he could feel that his own lips were less graceful than usual, but he was enjoying the way that his lover’s tongue slipped into his mouth. He moaned appreciatively.   
  
His lover’s hands found his butt and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Mexico pulled out of the kiss and said, “Is that a yes?”  
Guerrero said, “Absolutely.”   
  
The mortal smashed their lips together, like he had been starving in the seconds they had been apart. Mexico felt weak at the knees and was glad that he was laying down so that he would not collapse against Guerrero.   
  
Mexico put his hands on Guerrero’s face and held him close. He could feel the man’s thick, soft sideburns under his hands. He could feel Guerrero’s strong, calloused hands now roaming over the bare skin of his lower back.   
  
His skillful hands slipped Mexico’s pants off. Not to be outdone, Mexico started working on the laces of the other’s pants so that he could take them off as well. It would only be fair if both of them were equally naked.  
  
He managed it without looking; it was a well-practiced maneuver. It had been necessary when they only had flickering candle light to clumsily undress each other.   
  
Their lips hardly parted as they both pulled apart, breathing in deeply. Mexico spoke, keeping his hands buried in Guerrero’s side burns, “Chente, I love you so much.”   
The mortal was using both of his own hands to apply oil to his fingers. He said, earnestly, “I love you too, Ale. I want to make you happy.”   
  
His fingers started the preparation which was so usual to them by now. Mexico moaned gratefully. There was something special about the feeling of his general, friend, and lover being inside of him. It made him feel like they were one in both body and conviction.  
  
He rolled onto his back and Guerrero took the invitation to position himself over him. Mexico craved him, so much that he found it difficult to be patient while Guerrero prepared him carefully. He wrapped his legs around Guerrero’s hips and pulled him closer, trying to communicate the lust pulsing in his blood.   
  
No matter his own eagerness, Mexico knew that his lover would not take the risk of hurting him. But, he did let out an impatient whine, “I’m ready. Just do it.”   
Guerrero chuckled and said, “As you wish.”  
  
The feeling of him pushing into him was so familiar to Mexico after they years they had been lovers, but he felt every bit of satisfaction. Now it was even more significant.   
  
Mexico was almost overcome by the thought that this was so much better now that it had been when they had limited time and energy after a long day of fighting. Now he was in the middle of the luxury that Spain had built for him with the man he loved more than anyone else. The thought was completely intoxicating.  
  
At the first thrust, he moaned and thought that this was what freedom was supposed to feel like. He was supposed to be free to love whoever he pleased. He was free to use his own body the way that he pleased.   
  
Another thrust reduced the thoughts to overwhelming pleasure. He clung to Guerrero’s broad torso, and pulled himself close enough to hold tightly onto the man.   
  
He wanted to feel and experience every part of him. He breathed in the smell of Guerrero’s skin. It was different now that he had bathed and no longer smelled of horses and gunpowder. But, he smelled so good and there was something about it that excited Mexico even more.  
  
He placed a soft kiss on Guerrero’s jaw before another thrust made him moan a little too loudly in the mortal’s ear.   
  
The speed of the thrusts increased, and Mexico did his best to hold on. He could feel in the mounting, vigorous passion that Guerrero was enjoying every moment of their triumph just as much as he was.  
  
Mexico connected their lips again and again in sloppy kisses between the breathy moans that he could not restrain. The feeling was building in his gut as each well placed thrust sent him closer and closer to the edge. Guerrero knew him well and his aim was good.   
  
Finally, he toppled over the edge and a single thought occurred to him in the midst of the pleasure: This was what he had fought for. This was the indulgence of freedom and he wanted nothing else.   
  
Once they had both finished, Guerrero held him against his chest and Mexico fell into exhausted, contented sleep.   
  
———————————-  
  
 **1822  
**  
It was a strange feeling that it was Christmas and yet Mexico was rid of Spain. He had been away from Spain for the last ten years, but Christmas had never been an important day when they were at war. There had been some frivolity, but it was subject to the needs of war.  
  
It was strange for Mexico to see the men who had been his commanders and generals with their families, actually allowing themselves to celebrate. Iturbide had a whole crop of children that Mexico had barely thought to ask about. There was something unsettling about the idea that he hadn’t really gotten to know any of them beyond the battlefield.  
  
He had his fill of small talk, and he couldn’t deny that it was comforting to have this kind of normality again. It was everything he had appreciated about court life, but he did not have the feeling of eyes on him all night. He liked the thought that Spain would never again watch him from a distance to monitor his actions. He was free to do as he pleased within reason.  
  
Holding onto his third glass of excellent, sweet wine, Mexico found his way to the edge of the room and the door that led out onto a balcony. It had been such a long time since he had been home.   
  
But, there was one person that was not there whose presence Mexico had been craving. He had been seeing his former general and good friend less often, and his mind would not be still wondering at the reason. It was strange to him that Guerrero was not here on a festive night. But, Mexico pushed the thought away as he stepped out into the crisp night air.  
  
He did not want to dwell on an unpleasant thought, not now. He took a long drink of wine before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He was still trying to get used to the idea that he was finally free. He smiled at the thought that there was no predatory Spaniard waiting for him. He could stay out as late as he wanted, drink as much wine as he wanted, and take someone to bed if he pleased. It was a glorious to think that it was all his decision now.  
  
“Am I interrupting a thought.” Mexico opened his eyes at the sound of a very familiar voice. He opened his eyes to see Guerrero standing in front of him. The man had not been there all night, but Mexico’s heart swelled when he saw him.   
  
He responded with a smile, “No, I was just reflecting. You’re always welcome to interrupt me.”   
Guerrero changed the topic, “I am sorry that I was late, I did not mean to be. But, I wanted to be here for you.”

He paused for a moment and stepped forward toward Mexico and then said, “Its a very special occasion. It’s the first Christmas that you are free.”  
  
Mexico smiled, the two and a half glasses of wine he had drunk so far made him feel pleasantly warm and uninhibited. He replied with a sincere smile, “Freedom is the most beautiful gift you could have given me.”   
  
He meant it, especially after the thoughts that had been drifting through his mind. Guerrero responded with a charming smile, “Well then, I suppose I didn’t need to bring this. It’s just a book, but I think you will enjoy it.”   
  
He extended a package wrapped in carefully folded paper. Mexico took it and smiled more widely. He said, “I didn’t get you anything.”   
The mortal shook his head, “You didn’t need to. I just wanted to see you happy.”   
  
Mexico looked around to see if anyone was even out on the balcony, but they were completely alone. He stepped closer and said, “Come here. Let me show you that I am grateful.”  
  
The mortal caught his meaning and mirrored his step. Guerrero put his arms around Mexico’s waist and pulled him closer. Then he said, “Merry Christmas, Ale.” before pulling Mexico into a soft kiss.  
  
———————————-  
  
 **The Second Empire  
**  
Mexico was walking across the open verandas of Chapultepec, with a nagging thought in his head. It was the thought of Maximilian dancing with him, and the way the emperor’s hand had pressed against his lower back. It was not an intimate touch, but he could not get it out of his head.   
  
He decided that there was only one thing to do. He walked back into the castle and found his way to the door. He pushed it open, and was surprised to find that the room was still lit at this hour.   
  
He had half expected to find his emperor asleep. Maximilian was in just his undershirt and pants, like he had been preparing to sleep but work had kept him awake. He rose to his feet and said, “Alexander, what is wrong?”  
  
Without offering any explanation, Mexico took several quick steps, took his emperor’s face in his hands, and pressed their lips together. Maximilian was shocked enough that he didn’t kiss back at first. Mexico felt like he was letting out the feelings that the deceptively simple hand on his back had brought to the surface.  
  
He had been straining to reach his emperor’s height, and he slowly let himself down so he was standing on his flat feet again.  
  
He had no idea if he had gone too far, but it felt right to have let out those feelings. He wasn't sure what to say to explain himself, and Maximilian was staring at him. He slowly chose the words, “I’m sorry. I needed to do that.”  
  
It was not as articulate as he had hoped, but it was what came to mind. Maximilian put a hand softly on his face and tilted it up so that Mexico was looking directly at him. He spoke, his quiet voice carrying in the empty space, “No, I didn’t want you to stop.”   
  
He leaned forward and pressed their lips together again, this time with more certainty and authority. Mexico felt like he could melt against his emperor. This was exactly what he had wanted when they had danced so close.   
  
He put his arms around Maximilian’s shoulders and stood on his tip toes to reach him emperor’s height. The kiss was firm, but so impossibly gentle.   
  
As Mexico broke away, he held on firmly. He just needed a breath, but the last thing he wanted was for Max to let go of him. The other stroked his cheek with his thumb as he said, “Please come to bed with me, Liebling.”   
  
He didn’t sound like a monarch. He sounded like a man asking earnestly for someone he loved to be with him. Mexico could feel his desperate sincerity, and he knew his answer. He replied, “Yes, I would like to.”   
  
With one smooth, gentle motion, Maximilian swept him into a bridal carry. He then took the few steps to the bed and set down Mexico on the blankets. Mexico wanted to pull him down on top of him, but he resisted the urge.   
  
He waited patiently as his emperor laid next to him and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. Then, his hand slipped under Mexico’s shirt.  
  
Mexico woke with a start.  
  
The dream had been so vivid, and he could almost still feel Maximilian’s lips on his and the brush of his beard against his face. He stared at the ceiling.   
Why had he dreamed that of all things?   
  
Max was his emperor and he couldn’t love him. He knew how much pain he would be inviting if he fell in love with a mortal again. But, his mind had decided to create a night of affection.   
He sighed and turned over. The next day he would find a way for Francis to erase the thought from his head.  
  
———————————————  
  
 **The Second Empire  
**  
Mexico found the emperor in the gardens, which already told him something important. Maximilian only stepped out into the garden when he was feeling stressed and overwhelmed by the pressures of the day.   
  
Mexico felt the urge to go to him, and to tell him that everything would be right in time. But, there was a letter from Juarez hidden in his room that would break Maximilian’s heart if he knew. The empire wasn’t sustainable, and Mexico knew it more keenly than anyone. But, as he looked at his emperor, he felt nothing but the deepest sympathies.  
  
He took quick steps to the man’s side. The sound of his footsteps prompted the mortal to turn his head and smile. Mexico was glad to see that it was genuine, which meant that Maximilian had not been dwelling on something. He spoke as Mexico came to his side, “Good morning, Alexander.”  
  
His eyes were so full of light, and Mexico found himself smiling back. It was a warm, sunny morning, and the flowers in the garden were blooming so beautifully. Mexico found it hard to be unhappy about any of this. He wished for a single, reckless moment that Maximilian would sweep him into his arms.   
  
But, he had to try to keep his distance. He looked away from Maximilian’s staggering eyes and directed his gaze to where the emperor had been looking. There were two young boys chasing each other around the paths.   
  
They both looked so happy in their own frivolity that it almost made it possible for Mexico to not see the shadow of their grandfather in their faces. Neither of them resembled Iturbide that strongly, but Mexico still felt the memory tugging at his mind. They were only recently arrived to the palace and Mexico was certain the effect would fade over time.  
  
He said, speaking his mind aloud, “Are you really planning to adopt them?”   
  
The plan had surprised him when Maximilian had first put it to him, and he had tacitly expected it to never come to fruition. He had expected Maximilian to crown an heir of his own, even if there was not one available yet.  
  
The mortal nodded and said, “I have already drawn up the official papers.”   
Mexico turned to him and asked, “What makes you so certain that you won’t have a child?”  
  
He didn’t know what he expected as an answer, but he was certain he did not expect for his emperor to brush the back of his hand with his own. He couldn’t help but turn his eyes back to Maximilian, who said, “I know Carlotta and I will not have children, and you do know why, I think. It was never expected from me when I was an archduke. But, I can’t leave you without.”  
  
Mexico felt a swelling of affection at the words left unsaid. The soft contact and the look in Maximilian’s eyes said everything, but the idea scared Mexico. The sound of the children playing faded into the background as he felt the warmth of the day and allowed himself to dwell on the idea of what his emperor had said to him without saying it.   
  
Mexico attempted to change the topic to something safer, “I don’t think there have been boys in this palace since my brothers lived here.” He tried to smile, though the memory of his brothers was far from pleasant. There had been moments of happiness, but nothing like the easy comfort of this moment.  
  
Mexico lapsed into silence and hoped that Maximilian did not see the way his face fell. The empire tactfully looped his arm under Mexico’s, and said sweetly, “Walk with me, Alexander. The boys are not done playing and we should enjoy the day.”   
  
Mexico could think of no reason to deny him. He nodded. The emperor took his arm more firmly in his hold, and slowly guided him. He added, his voice still soft, “I would like to know about your brothers, but I understand if you do not want to tell me.”   
  
Mexico drew in a breath and said with the most complete honesty he could muster, “I want to tell you so much.”   
  
His mind slipped back to the letter from Juarez. He couldn’t say anything about that, even if he wanted to tell Maximilian so much of what was on his mind. The mortal nodded, and with the same patience that Mexico had come to appreciate, he said, “We have time. I will wait forever if you need me too.”


	15. The Netherlands

**1566  
**  
Belgium had never seen her brother in such a state before. He was pale and determined as he tore the letter from Spain to pieces. She knew what it had said. It had said that he must pacify William of Orange, or Spain would do it for him.  
  
Spain’s fury was familiar, the look of abject anger on the Netherlands’ face was new. Though he was an imposing man with a stern demeanor, he was rarely angry. A stranger might read his quiet or his blunt nature as anger, she knew him well enough to know that it was not. This deathly silent man, white as porcelain, with a vein pounding in his temple, was truly angry.  
  
She had wanted to say something to him since he had gotten the letter, but it was hard to imagine what could be said. She cleared her throat and tried, “You should speak to him. Surely he will understand if you go to Madrid.”   
  
He exhaled sharply through his nose, and it made her jump. It was the first sound he had made since he received the letter. It only confirmed his deep anger.  
  
Then, he spoke, “I have already told him that his taxes are too high. I have told him that his lack of tolerance for protestants is unreasonable. I have told him so many times that he must respect my nobility. I have said everything to him before, and he still sends me this. No, I am done talking to him.”   
  
He held up the pieces of the letter, like she could not already guess what he was talking about.  
  
She folded her anxious hands together so that they would not shake. His tone was worrying her deeply. She said, “But, what else is there to do? He is our lord whether you like it or not.”  
He fixed his eyes on her, and they were deep and unyielding. Silently, he took the pieces of the letter and threw them into the fire. Then, he took every letter and order that he had piled in front of him, and placed them into the fire.  
  
Belgium gasped and put a hand to her chest. He couldn’t mean what she imagined he meant by this.  
  
The Netherlands watched the letters burn for a moment, and then said, “I do not accept his right to rule. I think it is time that we drove him out.”   
  
She repeated, shock seizing her vocal cords, “‘We?‘ This is madness! He owns half of the world, and you think you can fight him.”  
  
The Netherlands scoffed again, and said, “I know I am small, as David was to Goliath. I will win, because God favors me, and I will slay this giant.”  
  
He took the rosary from his neck, the one that Spain insisted he wear, and tossed it into the fire as well.   
  
Seeing the look of shock and horror on his sister’s face, he explained, “Antonio is corrupt, and his church in Rome is rotten to the core. I will have no more of either of them.”   
  
She put her hand to her own cross, scared that he might take that next. Tears, from fear for him, welled up in her eyes. Her older brother, who had been her companion for as long as she could remember, felt like a stranger to her.  
  
He was past her kind words or soothing touch, and it scared her. Nothing she knew would bring him back to reason. She felt tears coming in earnest now.  
  
He stopped in his fit of destruction, and took her free hand in his own. He said, in the soft voice he had always used when she was upset, “Emma, don’t cry. Come with me, and we will make a new Republic for ourselves away from this cruel tyrant with tolerance and beauty.”   
  
She felt like she could not swallow past the thick feeling in her throat. Looking at him hurt. She said, tears slipping down her cheeks as she spoke, “I cannot go with you, and I cannot bear the thought of Antonio hurting you. You know what he did in the New World-”   
  
Her voice broke as she thought of the tales of cruelty that they had both heard. She couldn’t even imagine that happening to her brother.  
  
Her vision swam with tears as she said, “Please don’t do this. Find some other way.”  
  
He shook his head resolutely, “There is no other way for me except this.”  
  
———————————————  
  
 **Mid 18th Century  
**  
“I find your brother to be a great tragedy, you know.”  
  
The observation same unprompted, and with the casual air of a man unconcerned. Portugal looked up from his cards, and across at the table at the Netherlands.   
  
The tall man had spoken like he was making light conversation. Portugal found the topic heavier than that. The thought of Spain was always sore to him, especially since they had become so estranged from him since the end of the Hapsburg rule in his own borders.  
  
He glanced at England, who was the third at the table. The shorter blonde still had his eyes determinedly on his cards.  
  
Portugal decided that it was better to address it than to act like it was unsaid. He replied, “What do you mean?”   
  
He was not sure if he wanted the answer. The Netherlands could be a pleasant enough man, but his judgements seemed to fall harshly. He was informed, it seemed, by his own pious Protestant sentiments. He was somber, sober, and always dressed in black, so it seemed that he was perpetually in mourning.   
  
The Netherlands took one card from his hand and laid it on the table before saying, “He has fallen so far. When I fought him, he was still impressive. The great Spanish Bull.”   
  
He paused to stare pensively at the array of cards on the table. It occurred to Portugal that it was his own turn to play a card. He tried to think of which one to use, but his mind was still too fully on Spain.  
  
Without his prompting, the Netherlands continued, “He has every advantage in the world: Rome’s blood, Rome’s looks, and half the world to call his empire.”   
  
This prompted a reproachful look from England, who looked like he would very much like to stress the size of his own empire. But, there was not enough time for him to cut in before the Netherlands said, “But, look at him now. He’s mad with lust for that Aztec boy, and he’s grown fat and indulgent on luxury.”  
  
Portugal felt himself ball up his free hand. He did not want to hear this, even if there was some truth to how much Spain had let himself indulge in his comfortable position. He said, feeling himself gritting his teeth, “You should not speak about something you do not know.”  
  
He knew enough about the bloody conflict between the Netherlands and Spain to know that the bad blood ran deep, and the Netherlands was relishing in this. His enemy fallen so far brought him joy. But, it stirred Portugal’s stomach uncomfortably.   
  
The Netherlands replied as England made his own play, “I may not know everything. But, I do know that he spurned Austria for his New World lover, and divorced him to free up the space at his side. I hear that now he makes love to New Spain quite shamelessly day and night, and everyone in his court knows it.”   
  
There was an edge to his voice that sounded like a kind of gleeful malice that he could not possibly be capable of. Portugal felt sick at the talk.  
  
It got no better when the Netherlands said, “It is a pity that your church doesn’t discourage such lasciviousness. Don’t you think so, Arthur?”   
  
He turned expectantly to the other Protestant in the room. England swallowed hard and said, “This is not a matter of faith.”   
  
Portugal cut in, sharply, “With all of your piousness, you should know that the Proverbs warn against gossip.”   
  
He threw down his cards and said, “If you will excuse me, gentlemen. I do not wish to poison myself with this tonight.”   
  
With that, Portugal stood and left, closing the wooden door with a bang.  
  
Once he was gone, England gave the Netherlands a hard, reproachful look. The tall blonde said, still seemingly unbothered, “It seems that the truth was too much. Antonio is a lecher.”   
He picked up the cards that Portugal had thrown down, like he wanted to assess how good his odds had been to win the game. England said, not hiding his irritation, “You speak too freely, Johann. Much too freely.”   
  
With that, he laid down his own cards and left to find Portugal.  
  
_________________________________  
  
 _Madrid  
_  
Spain watched his sleeping colony with a smile on his face. New Spain’s arms were wrapped tightly around him as he slept. The hold made Spain supremely happy.   
  
He brushed back a piece of New Spain’s hair from his face, and took the time to stare at the young man. His face always looked so sweet when he was asleep, almost innocent, almost virginal. If Spain didn’t know better, he might have assumed that no sin had ever touched the boy.  
  
But, he could also see the dark spot blooming on the skin of New Spain’s neck. It was his own doing. He loved how exquisitely beautiful marks looked on New Spain’s perfect copper skin.   
He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on New Spain’s collarbone, his thanks for a sweet night. New Spain stirred sleepily, but did not wake.  
  
Spain was sure that the excesses of the night were more than enough to keep New Spain very soundly asleep. He loved these moments, when he could appreciate the spoils of his empire.   
He moved the blanket down New Spain’s shoulder far enough so that he could kiss the crest of his shoulder. That earned him a sleepy groan from New Spain.  
  
Somewhere, perhaps, they mocked him for doting on New Spain like this. But, he thought as he kissed the boy’s sleeping face, it was worth it. If he could have this, then he did not care.  
He said, softly, “Good night, my prince.”  
  
——————————————  
  
 **Modern  
**  
The sky was an expanse of blue, and the flat horizon made it seem like it went on forever. There were a few clouds passing overhead. It was pleasantly warm to Mexico, which he knew meant that it was unseasonably warm for this time of year.   
  
He was not used to the usual cold grey that plagued this part of the world. In his present state, he was sure that he would be acutely aware of the cold. It would hang in the air like a mist. It would cling to him like an unwanted lover, with that kind of oppressive discomfort that he was so familiar with.  
  
But, there was no cold here to touch him, just the rays of sunlight, which felt like the afterglow of a loving kiss.   
  
He turned his eyes away from the clouds, and looked around. He was not the only one who seemed enamored with the reappearance of the sun after the grey of winter. There were people scattered around on the green expanse of the Rembrantplein, many just sitting and enjoying the weather.   
  
There was the commotion of voices speaking in a language he did not understand, the careless hum of causal conversation. Even if he could not understand it, Mexico enjoyed the cadence of the words. It was pleasant in its own way, a kind of music that he could still enjoy.   
  
The occasional sound in the back of the throat was charmingly guttural. It reminded him of the growl of an enthralled lover, the kind that could send a shiver down his spine so effortlessly.   
  
It sounded so different from the silken smoothness of French, or the comfortable familiarity of Spanish. The closest he could compare it to was German, the kind of German that Max spoke.  
  
Which reminded him of Maximilian, and the long nights they had spent trading phrases in German for phrases in Nahuatl. The memories were warm and very comfortable. Perhaps that was why he felt a kind of natural affection for this cousin language.   
  
He continued to look around, taking in the bustle around him. Next his eye was caught by the sun glinting off of the bicycles by the canal. Just beyond the path where bikes moved like the constant energy of a stream, there was a place where bikes were leaning against the railing, like disorganized metal soldiers.   
  
The sun glinted off the metal of the frames. If he stared long enough at the overlapping pieces of the bikes, they started to look more and more like a tangle of metal vines. The locks almost looked like they were moving between the bikes and the side of the canal, snaking their way between metal branches.  
  
Mexico blinked and tried to will his thoughts to focus on something else. It felt like grabbing at smoke. The thoughts kept slipping between his fingers, no matter how he tried.   
He tried to focus on something tactile, and present.   
  
He could feel the Netherland’s lap under his head. It was far more comfortable than the ground. The man was tall and angular, but his lap was proving to be perfectly soft. There was also something so inexorably comforting about him.   
  
Mexico opened his eyes and looked up at the Netherlands. He was temporarily blinded by the sun behind the man’s head after the darkness of the inside of his eyelids.   
  
He blinked several times, and his companion quickly came into focus. Mexico could see his fair complexion and his blonde hair, and the rolled cigarette between his lips. There was a red tinge in the whites of his eyes that hinted that it was not tobacco.  
  
There was an easy smile on the man’s lips, and it made him look very handsome. It always puzzled Mexico to hear other people describe the Netherlands as cold. With that look on his face, he seemed positively sunny.   
  
And every memory he had of the man was of kindness, even when Mexico had been a small boy newly arrived from the Americas. The Netherlands had been kind and understanding to him. It was so strange to think that anyone could find him foreboding.   
  
The Netherlands took a long drag from the cigarette and then blew out a cloud of smoke. Then he said, his voice sounding slightly thicker from the smoke, “Do you want more?”   
  
It took a moment for Mexico to even process what the man had said. He heard it, but he was more enraptured by the rise and fall of his voice on the Spanish words.   
  
Mexico found himself wondering what he looked like through the Dutchman’s eyes at the moment. He must have been quite the sight. His hair splayed out in the man’s lap, and a smile on his face that could only come from intoxication. It was still a handsome sight, he was sure.  
  
He wondered, would it be the same as the face he saw in the mirror, or would it be the opposite?   
  
Slowly, the thought dawned upon him that he had not answered the question, because his mind had seized on another subject and wandered away. He focused back on the question, and answered, “Yes.”   
  
The other smiled indulgently at him, and said, “Are you sure? You look like you’re feeling good already.”  
  
There was a hint of bemusement in his voice. It sounded like he was repressing a laugh. The Netherlands could tell how far gone he already was just from the way he must have been looking at him with a careless smile.   
  
The thought somehow seemed impossibly funny, and he chuckled. He said, still laughing under his breath, “I do feel good.”   
  
He reached out to take the cigarette, which the Netherlands relinquished to him. Mexico added, with what he hoped was a cheeky smile, “But I could feel even better.”   
  
He could feel the words in his mouth. The consonants felt round, like they rolled around on his tongue.   
  
Trying to focus enough, he put the cigarette to his lips, and took a long pull from it. He felt the effect almost immediately, warm across the roof of his mouth. Then the warmness blended into the pleasant sensitivity of the rest of his body.  
  
With his free hand, he ran his fingers through the grass. It felt softer than he had imagined it. It was lush. It must have been all the rain that fell constantly; it fed the grass well.  
The Netherlands gently took the cigarette from him, and said, “I think that is enough for you.”   
  
Mexico conceded that he might be right with a shrug. He only ever did this when he visited Amsterdam, so the feeling was rare. It was easy to forget what was enough and what was too much. So he could allow the other man, who was so much better versed in this to say when he should stop.   
  
It felt pleasant anyway, being able to feel and see everything so clearly. There were even the beginnings of images dancing at the edges of his vision. He wasn’t sure what they were, but they often came when he indulged. If he went further, he knew he could see even more, and see those little bits of the past and future.  
  
It was better to ignore them though, he had learned that many times over. Seeing the little pieces never made sense anyway.   
  
He responded, “If you say so.”   
The Netherlands said, in a way that was charmingly assertive, “I do say so. I’m not letting you overdo it.”   
  
Mexico felt himself smirk as he said, “But you are letting me do it.”   
There as a sparkle in the blonde’s eye as he said, “I know. I am allowing you a little indiscretion.”  
  
An idea struck Mexico, and he felt the mischievous itch to act on it. He put on a strong Castilian accent and said, “But what would God say?”   
  
It had the intended effect and the Netherlands immediately started laughing. The chuckle turned into a hard laugh. It took him a minute to catch his breath enough to say, “You sound just like him when you do that.”   
  
The imitation of Spain always seemed to amuse the Netherlands, and it was nice to see the man laugh. Mexico absentmindedly twined his fingers in the grass as he said, “I had to listen to him for three centuries. The least I could get out of it is a good impression.”   
  
He didn’t want to dwell on those years, but this was lighthearted enough, and it was much easier to laugh in this state. He added, “Tony would be quite displeased if he knew.”   
  
He said the word “displeased” in the same strong Castilian. It made the other laugh again, and this time the laugh was infectious. Mexico laughed too, far too heartily than he knew he should. But it was so hard not to laugh when the Dutchman was laughing; his joy was too good not to join.   
  
The blonde put out the cigarette and said, “Fuck him. Come on, let's go back to my place.”   
  
Mexico pouted, "I am comfortable.”   
The Dutchman seemed unmoved. He said, “I’ll buy you something chocolate on the way.”  
  
It was bribery, but Mexico did not care. He said, “You are good at negotiating.”  
The other chuckled again and said, “That’s the secret of my success.”  
  
Mexico was sitting on the slightly worn couch in the Dutchman’s living room, eating a waffle covered in chocolate and strawberries. He was trying to be careful enough to not get chocolate on either his face or the couch.   
  
It would have been easy if he was sober, but he needed all of his attention at the moment. It tasted fantastic, far better than it would have otherwise. He was distinctly aware of the tartness of the strawberries in contrast to the sweetness of the chocolate and the dusting of powdered sugar. The waffle was soft and subtly sweet. It all blended together well to be sublimely satisfying.   
  
He finished off the waffle, and then felt a slight melancholy at its absence. Food was such a short lived pleasure, rather like sex. But, he knew which one he would choose if he had to.   
  
He placed the empty container to the the side. The apartment was so cozy. It was decorated in warm colors, and filled with comfortable furniture. There were pieces of blue and white porcelain on a few of the surfaces. They were very beautiful, and delicate in a way. It showed a level of taste that one would not guess that the Netherlands had.   
  
He looked towards the windows, where there were window boxes full of tulips. The color was a nice touch, it added something cheery.   
  
For a moment, he saw the shadow of something. A tall man looking out the window, with a phone in his hand. The person on the other side was saying that Rotterdam would only be the first if he did not surrender.   
  
Mexico blinked and it was gone.   
  
It was just a shadow of the past, just a passing shadow.   
  
He drew in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt a strange pang at the memory, even if it wasn’t his own, and he was willing it to go away.   
The thought was interrupted by a voice, “I think someone wants to say hello to you.”   
  
He turned to see the Netherlands with a large white rabbit in his arms, which he deposited in Mexico’s lap. He said softly, “Miffy, say hello to Alejandro.”  
  
Mexico pet the rabbit and said, in the voice he usually used on his own dogs, “Hello, little one. Aren’t you adorable?”   
  
The rabbit’s pink nose twitched in response. The shiny black eyes seemed so knowing, and Mexico wondered for a moment if an immortal rabbit was capable of understanding him.   
  
Perhaps their pets learned what they said after so long. He hoped that she knew that he was complimenting her.   
  
He pet the rabbit’s soft head, and added, “You’re very cute. And you have a very good owner.”  
  
The Netherlands said, “Are you happy?”   
Mexico looked up at him, and responded, “Yes, I’m very happy”


	16. Puerto Rico

**After the Spanish-American War  
**  
Puerto Rico was doing needlework in the living room of America’s house. This place was unfamiliar and she was livid about being stuck here, but needlework had always been calming. It was repetitive and that was enough to keep her from yelling at everyone around her for now.   
  
But, the thought kept coming to the forefront of her mind that she was still a colony again despite her best efforts. She stabbed through the fabric with more force than was strictly necessary in an attempt to vent her frustration.   
  
Cuba was sitting across from her reading a book and the Philippines was braiding her long hair on another couch. The three of them had endured the the worst of Spain’s instability and control, and now they were stuck with another imperialist that had used a war against Spain as an excuse to bring them under his yoke.   
  
Puerto Rico felt another surge of rage, not just at America. It was the unfairness of life that was making her so angry. She was mad at Spain for oppressing her, at Mexico for leaving her, with Philippines for helping him, and with Alfred for not letting her be free. But, she was seething in silence, taking her anger out on the piece of fabric that she was stitching a bird of paradise on.  
  
Guam came running into the room and breathlessly said, “Alfred has a visitor!”  
  
He ran over to the window and looked out to where America and his visitor apparently were. Puerto Rico could not care less about who was visiting, there was no country who she had a kind word for. But, Guam was young and excited. He said, “Carlos, come here! Do you know her?”   
  
Cuba sighed and stood up. When he looked out, he said, “That’s Brazil. I’ve only met her once or twice. I don’t know much about her.”   
Philippines said, cutting unexpectedly into the conversation, “Alejandro knows her. He used to send her letters.”   
  
This information pulled Puerto Rico away from her needlework. She had never heard that Mexico had even met Brazil, let alone that they were close enough to send each other letters. She asked, seeking for some reason for this, “When did he do that?”  
  
It could not have been when he was a colony, she would have known about it. Philippines looked like she thought this was obvious, “From what I can tell, they knew each other since before I met him.”  
  
It was impossible, Mexico had never even spoken with another woman while they were together. Puerto Rico said, “That can’t be. He was with me.”  
The look that passed over the other woman’s face caused a wave of terrible dread over her.  
  
Philippines spoke slowly, “If you didn’t know, then maybe....”   
  
She trailed off and the look on her face suddenly turned to pity. Nothing could have made Puerto Rico more upset. She said, shrillness coloring her voice, “Maybe what?”  
Philippines replied with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else, “Maybe she was the other woman. Ale once told me that he had another woman waiting for him.”  
  
Puerto Rico felt curiously light headed as she slowly processed the news. Mexico had a mistress, even when they were engaged. The anger that she had been suppressing came roaring up. This was the last humiliation, and she could not stand it. The person who was the target of this sudden, sharp rage was standing in the garden.  
  
She rose to her feet and threw down her needlework on the chair, and let her anger carry her out of the room. Cuba said sharply, “Cat! Don’t do anything rash!” But by that point, she was already out the door. His heavy footsteps followed her, but she did not care.   
  
In a moment, she was out of the house and in the garden. Brazil was not what she had expected. If she did not know that Brazil was a woman, she would not have immediately have seen it. Brazil was wearing a man’s uniform, with a sword at her hip.   
  
Bringing all her anger into her voice box, Puerto Rico said, “Hey, hussy!”   
Brazil turned her head towards the sound, but her face remained impassive. This fact, if anything, made her even angrier, and she said, “He wasn’t yours! You stole him!”   
  
By this point, America had noticed her yelling, and he was walking towards him. But, Brazil turned to him and said, “Wait. I’ll handle this.”   
  
Puerto Rico felt like a demon had possessed her, every injustice she had endured was coming back to her in vitriolic waves. But her rival looked incredibly calm as she walked towards her.   
  
When she got close enough, Brazil had the gaul to reach out to her and say, “You are too pretty for these tears. Let him be free, and let yourself be happy.”   
Puerto Rico swatted away her hand and said, “Don’t touch me, bitch.”   
  
She could see America ready to intervene, and it wasn’t worth it to keep up this anger. She gave them both one more angry glare and said to no one in particular, “He loved me!”   
  
Then she turned and walked away, feeling the anger ebb away and give way to the deepest despair. As soon as she was back inside, sheltered safely behind the door, she let the tears come. As the sobs shook her body, she felt Cuba pull her into a hug and say, “I’m so sorry, Cat.”


	17. Peru

**Before the Conquest  
**  
Inca was sitting at her loom, her clever hands moving quickly to weave a complicated pattern. The blanket she was working on was nearly complete. Her eldest son was sitting on the ground next to her, with string of knots in his hand. There was a crib next to her with the youngest of her sons sleeping comfortably swaddled in blankets.  
  
Peru was trying to keep his mind on what he was doing. It was important to learn how to read the accounts of the empire. Every so often, he glanced over at his second brother, who was playing with little carved toys on the ground next to him.   
  
For now, he was quiet, but when he got bored, Peru would have to keep him entertained so that he did not disturb their mother. She said she would not mind, but he felt that it was his duty to help his mother however he could.   
  
Peru tried to keep his mind on the string in his hand. He was meant to be reading the number off of the string and tell his number to his mother. It was a simple exercise, but it was meant to prepare him for leadership. Inca had always said that he would be the one to inherit the throne, and he knew that meant that he must learn.  
  
It was not easy to remember what the patterns meant, or how to produce them. But, he was trying to understand. One day, he would be able to just move his hand over a cord and know the number, like his mother did. He had seen her go through the accounts easily and quickly.  
  
He finally finished counting and added the numbers together in his head. Then he looked up at his mother, hoping to catch her eye so that she could see that he was done. He did not want to bother her when she was so busy weaving.  
  
Inca glanced at him and said, putting her weaving aside, “Have you finished, Pachacutec?”   
  
Peru nodded quietly. She extended one hand to him and said, “Come show me.”   
  
Peru stood and walked to his mother, his work in his hand. He wanted to be sure he had done it right, and his mother would be proud of his progress. He extended the cord to her and she took it gently from his hand. She looked it over and then said to him, “And how many do you count?”   
  
He took a breath into his chest and said, hoping his answer was correct, “Fifty-three.”   
Inca nodded and said, “That is correct. You are learning so quickly, my little one.”  
  
He smiled fully, so proud that he had done well. She ran one hand over his hair gently and said, “I’m very proud of you.” Peru felt so happy to hear those words. He was her heir and he needed to do his very best all the time.  
  
The baby woke and quietly let out a little coo. Peru looked over at the little baby, who was now stirring. Inca looked at the baby and then to Peru and said, “Do you want to hold your little brother?”   
  
Peru hardly remembered his middle brother being that small, so he was fascinated by the little child. He had been a toddler himself when Bolivia was born, and he had never had the chance to hold him. He only had memories of the crying and of having to share his mother, with all the childish jealousy that had come with it.   
  
He said, enthusiastically, “Yes.”   
  
Inca took the baby in her arms, being careful to keep him wrapped in the blankets. She placed him in Peru’s arms, but was careful to keep her own arms beneath his so that the weight of the baby would not be too much for Peru’s little arms.  
  
He looked down at the bundle in his arms. The little baby looked up at him with deep, insightful eyes. Peru felt his heart melt. This vulnerable little creature was his brother, and he was responsible for him.   
  
He said, trying to express this new feeling, “He is so small.”   
Inca said, sounding like she understood exactly what he was feeling, “So were you when you were born. He will grow soon enough and then you will be able to play with him.”  
  
Bolivia tired of his toys and walked over to join them where they were standing. Inca looked up and deftly picked up Bolivia with one hand, while still keeping one arm beneath the baby. She placed Bolivia in her lap, where he cuddled against her shoulder. He started to play idly with one of her braids.  
  
Peru was still looking at his baby brother, still enchanted by how small he was. Baby Chile let out another sweet coo, and reached out one of his small hands. He seemed to be grabbing for something.  
  
Peru instinctively offered one of his hands, and the little hand wrapped around his fingers. He let out a soft gasp. It was so precious to feel the pressure on his fingers, so much stronger than he had expected.  
  
Inca said, keeping her arms firmly around her sons, “You are all precious gifts to me. You must love each other and look after each other.” Peru nodded emphatically. He wanted it to be clear that he understood his duty as the eldest.   
  
His mother turned her warm brown eyes to him and said, “Do you understand that?”   
He said, his voice coming out with a tremble in it, “Yes, mama.”  
  
She leaned forward and kissed Peru softly on the forehead. Then, she turned to Bolivia and kissed him as well.   
  
—————————————-  
  
 **1536  
**  
In his dream, Peru was in the capital city of the Empire again, where his mother had reigned. He had fond memories of this room, of playing with his younger brothers on this floor while his mother patiently checked the accounts of the empire, counting knots for the exact measure of each commodity.   
  
But, in his dream, the room was empty. It was hauntingly quiet in a way that it never would have been during his mother’s lifetime; four young boys had never made it possible to have even a moment of quiet.   
  
It felt cold to be so quiet, like a graveyard. His feet were carrying him without any real thought. Though it slowly dawned on him that he was walking towards the throne. The thought made his heart beat unevenly. Could he really allow himself to sit on his mother’s throne, even though she had intended it for him since the moment of his birth?  
  
The dream gave him no option, he was on the path already. But, as he sat, he felt a great trepidation.   
  
The door of his room banged open, immediately jolting Peru from his sleep. soldiers cam pouring through it. In the momentary panic before he was dragged from bed, Peru realized that there could only be one reason for this. Spain knew everything. Two soldiers grabbed him roughly by the arms and dragged him from the bed.   
  
Peru didn’t have awareness to get his feet below him before he hit the floor. One of the soldiers said gruffly, “On your feet, traitor”   
  
Peru, still firmly in the grip of the soldiers, scrambled to his feet. He was still attempting to understand what was happening. He knew that Spain must know about his involvement in the plan to throw off the Spanish yoke.   
  
Before he could ask or question any of it, a bag was pulled over his head. He could hear his own heart in his ears as the darkness snuffed out his vision. He did not know what Spain would do to him, but as he was dragged at a rate too fast for his feet, the stories came back to his mind of what Spain did to his captives. He couldn’t guess what horrors were awaiting him at the end of the walk.   
  
His bare feet bumped painfully against stone steps that he could not see. He gasped in pain, but no one had any sympathy for him, nor did they slow their pace. He had no sense of place, so terror took its place. If Spain knew he was a traitor, then what would happen to his brothers? He had sworn to his mother in her last moments that he would protect them.   
  
He entered a room with a hard floor that was cold beneath his feet, and he was forced into a seat. The bag was pulled off and he blinked, even though the candle light was not bright.   
  
Spain was sitting across a table from him. The man’s expression froze Peru’s blood. It was not the rage he had expected, it was a distant, cold, joy. It was as though this was what he had expected and anticipated.   
  
Without a single word, Spain slid a letter across the table towards him. Peru knew it already. It was the letter he had sent to England begging for aid. He did not know how Spain had intercepted it, but it didn’t matter. Spain said, once his hand left the letter, “It is yours. Do you deny it?”   
  
Peru shook his head slowly. It would not do much to fight and deny it now that Spain knew. But, he kept his lips pressed firmly together. Spain said, a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth, “Then you admit you are a traitor?”   
  
Peru could feel his pulse through his whole body. Spain was playing with him; he could feel it. He would have to say something about punishment eventually. It had to be what was putting so much joy on his smirking face.   
  
Peru nodded again, still refusing to say more than Spain already knew. Spain smiled like a hungry wolf, “Tell me who else knows. If your brothers are guilty, they will face the same punishment.”  
Peru finally spoke, unwilling to let any of his brothers suffer for his mistake, “It was only me. If you want to torture me or kill me, do it. But, leave them alone.”   
  
The other’s smile widened at that, though Peru did not understand why. He was giving in, but it was the best chance he had to spare anyone else pain. It might cost him his life, for all he knew, but he would not bring his family down.   
  
It had been hope, for one shining moment. How could he have ignored hope, when it was so close to him?   
  
Spain said, “Oh, I know what will hurt you and I don’t even need to touch you.”  
Peru felt a bolt of cold down his spine. He did not want to want to know the meaning of those words. Spain stood and said to one of the soldiers, “ Bring him in.”   
  
Peru made to stand, but one of the men behind him forced him back down. The door opened and two more soldiers stepped through it with Ecuador between them. The young boy was still in his night clothing and his big eyes were wide.  
  
Peru stood and this time he was allowed to. He wanted to pull his youngest brother into his arms. He knew that there was no possibility that Spain’s intentions were good.   
  
Spain flashed him another cruel look before walking over to the little boy and kneeling. Ecuador said, sleep still heavy on his voice, “What’s going on?” The sweetness that Spain injected in his voice sounded so false that it made goosebumps erupt on Peru’s skin, “I’m sorry for waking you. Your brother has done a very bad thing.”   
  
Peru noticed for the first time that there was a knife in Spain’s belt. The handle was sticking out more than usual, so Peru knew that he intended him to see it. An old memory flashed across his mind of seeing his mother’s body left in the city square, a deep red slash across her throat. He was not supposed to have seen it, but he did. He couldn’t allow that to happen to his brother, the little one who loved turtles and meant no harm to anyone.   
  
Spain continued talking, daring to lay his hand on Ecuador’s little shoulders, “Did you know anything about the bad things your brother planned?”   
Peru tried to lunge forward, but the soldiers seized his arms and held him back. He said, grief tearing at his vocal chords, “Leave him alone! He doesn’t know anything!”   
  
Spain turned to him, and reached back to put his hand lightly on the dagger. The warning could not have been clearer. Spain asked again, more clearly, “I believe that. And the other two?”   
  
Peru could feel tears stinging his eyes as he looked at the way Spain’s fingers were toying with the dagger, as though this was some game to him. His voice cracked as he said, “They don’t know anything. I didn’t want to risk them.”   
  
Spain nodded, showing that he believed him, and let his hand slip from the dagger. He turned back to Ecuador, and spoke again in that voice of false compassion, “You are going to spend time with you sister in New Granada. You won’t be seeing Fransisco for a long time.”   
  
Spain gestured to the soldiers, who finally released Peru. Then he said to Ecuador, “Say goodbye to your brother.”   
  
Once he was released, Peru knelt and Ecuador came running to him. Ecuador wrapped his arms around Peru’s neck and said, “I don’t want to go, Paco.” Peru pulled him close and wished he could him never let him go.   
  
But, he only got a moment before he Spain said, “That is enough of a farewell.” One soldier took a hold of Peru, and pulled him away. He tried to hold on, but his grip failed, and his arms were left empty. Ecuador was hurried out of the door.   
  
Only once he was gone, did Spain turn back to Peru and step towards him. He towered over his colony and said, his voice cold and hard, “You will never see him again. He will be with his other half-siblings, and he will be well taken care of.”   
  
Peru finally understood. His punishment would be to have his dearest sibling cut off from him. It caused him pain in a way that physical torture could not have. He couldn’t find a word to say to Spain.  
  
He looked up as Spain untied the scabbard and dagger from his belt and handed it to one of his soldiers. Spain continued speaking, “If you take even a step out of line, that dagger will have a use.”   
  
Peru felt the tears running down his cheeks. But, he did not dare speak, in case something angry and spiteful would come out. Spain did not want his response as he continued, “You are lucky I did not make an example of you. You will not speak to anyone about what happened; I will not have your rebellion spreading. You will be the model of an obedient colony.”   
  
Peru nodded silently. He would have to be an actor and hide all of his discontentment when he knew his brother was in danger. He would have to smile and pretend. Spain continued, “Take Alejandro as your example. I gave up a fine night with him to be here. There is a reason he has always had my favor, despite all of your jealous gossip. He is loyal and knows his place.”  
  
———————————————

**Early 18th Century  
**  
Peru opened the door to his bedroom, half expecting to see one of his brothers digging through his drawers to take something from his clothing. They did not have much regard for his possessions, and he had grown accustomed to it. The fact that the door was slightly open before he touched it made him think that one of his brothers had taken the liberty.   
  
But, as he opened the door, he saw that someone was indeed on his bed, but it wasn’t one of his brothers.  
  
Colombia was laying on his bed, and the way he was curled up on his side told Peru immediately that something was wrong. He sat next to him on the bed, and reached out to put a hand softly on Colombia’s shoulder.   
  
Peru said, softly, “Is something wrong, Enrique?”   
  
He had only just arrived back at court, and he should not be so upset already. It hurt to see him like this. Colombia’s voice sounded clearly like he had been crying when he said, “He’s engaged. He is going to get married to a woman.” He sniffled and buried his head in the pillow.   
  
Peru sighed deeply. He knew what this was. Someone had told Colombia that New Spain was engaged, and Peru would not be surprised if it was the snake himself.   
  
He had known that Colombia would have to find out eventually, but something told him that New Spain had not been gentle. He said, “I was going to tell you, Enrique.”   
  
As soon as he said it, he realized that he should have said it as soon as he knew that Colombia was home. He continued, “I should have told you, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”  
  
Colombia looked up at him with teary eyes. He said, “It’s not your fault, Paco.”  
  
He wiped the tears off his cheek with the back of his hand. He slowly sat up and looked like he was trying to compose himself. He said, “He is going to marry someone good, better than me. I don’t blame him.” His lip started to quiver and tears came back into his eyes as he said, “I was a fool for thinking that he would wait for someone like me.”  
  
Peru’s heart felt heavy at the words. He couldn’t have expected the words to come out of the mouth of someone who had once been so confident.  
  
He put his arm around Colombia and said, “Who said that there is anything wrong with you?”   
  
He was suddenly worried that New Spain had said something to him to make him think that. But Colombia shook his head and said, “When I was away, the priests told me how wrong and sinful I was for the things I wanted.”   
  
He let out another pained sob and Peru pulled him closer. Peru could feel himself clenching his jaw. Spain had sent priests to hurt Colombia when he spent his time parading around the court with New Spain on his arm like it wasn’t the same sin. This wasn’t about who Colombia loved, it was just an excuse to tear him down because he dared to touch Spain’s favorite.   
He said, “Don’t listen to them. There is nothing wrong with you.”   
  
Colombia put his head on Peru’s shoulder. his cheek was wet and Peru could feel it through his shirt. He said, “I heard once that twins are two halves of the same whole, and I keep thinking that something went wrong and my sister got all the good. How could Alejandro want that?”   
  
Peru felt the undeniable urge to erase that thought from his head. He turned and took Colombia’s face in his hands. He said, looking Colombia in the eyes, “You listen to me. You are too good for him. You took the blame for something he was just as guilty of. You were patient and good.”   
  
Colombia nodded, but it still didn’t seem like he was completely convinced. But it was enough for now. He let go of Colombia’s face. Peru said, “You are welcome to stay here as long as you want tonight. Whenever you need me, I will be here.”  
  
Colombia slipped his hand onto Peru’s and said, “Thank you.”  
  
——————————-  
  
 **Early 18th Century  
**  
Peru slammed the door behind himself and let out a frustrated snort. The exchange was still playing in his head. New Spain had absolutely no remorse about hurting Colombia, and now he was back to do it again. Peru had spent all the time since New Spain had left comforting Colombia and assuring him that there was no reason to pine for New Spain. There was far more to a man than a handsome face. But, in a few days at the very least, New Spain would be back to his old tricks, and doing harm that he did not care about.  
  
Peru said, trying to vent his frustration, “He’s a complete asshole!” He immediately got a response that he was not expecting, “New Spain again?”  
  
Bolivia was standing in the door to his bedroom. Peru had not bothered to look around his chambers and when he did he realized that both of his brothers were there. Bolivia had apparently been in his bedroom and Chile was sitting on the windowsill writing something in the light filtering in around him.   
  
Peru had thought he was alone, but it was better to have someone to talk to. He addressed the question, “Yes, he’s back and he’s still an asshole.”   
But, he was also incapable of ignoring the fact that his younger brother was in his room. He asked, “What are you even doing in there?”

Bolivia replied without a stitch of shame, “I am borrowing one of your vests. I’ll give it back tomorrow.”   
  
Peru sighed. Usually he would be mad that his brother was taking his clothing without permission, but his anger was elsewhere. He continued with his original thought, “How can someone be gone for so long and come back with no remorse? He hasn’t even thought about what he did Enrique?”   
  
Neither of his brothers reacted to his rant immediately, which only frustrated Peru further. He said, trying to get them to react, “He is so self-centered!”   
Chile finally spoke in his smooth, quiet way, “You only care so much because you want Enrique to fuck you.”   
  
Peru couldn’t entirely deny the accusation; he was attracted to Colombia. But, that was not the point that bothered him so much. It was the flippant way that New Spain dismissed anyone else’s pain. He responded to the accusation, “You can’t deny that he’s attractive.”   
  
Chile shrugged in response, “He isn’t my type.”   
Bolivia cut in with an inquisitive smirk, “And what is your type, Santi?”  
Chile replied, “Tall, dark, and handsome.”   
  
There was a moment of silence while Bolivia attempted to figure out if his brother was being serious. Peru did not care whether Chile really had a type or not, or whatever Chile was lazily writing while he sniped at him. He returned to his original thought, “But, New Spain is the same heartless selfish person he always was!”   
Chile chuckled, “And he’s a whore. Everyone knows it.”   
  
Bolivia nodded his head like this was accepted fact. Peru knew that; no one could deny that New Spain hung on Spain’s every word and spent nights with him. It didn’t take much imagination to know what New Spain was doing behind closed doors.   
  
Peru wanted to rant further, but it dawned upon him that they had both heard this before many times. Instead, he let out a long sigh and said, “Keep an eye on him, both of you. I don’t trust him and he is going to do something.” Both of his brothers nodded, which satisfied him.   
  
He sat down and Bolivia’s attention returned to his other brother, “Santi, what are you writing?”   
Chile was curt, “A letter.”   
Bolivia did not relent, “To who?”   
Chile glared at him and said, “None of your business, Simon. A neighbor.”   
  
————————————-

**Modern  
**  
Colombia was sitting in the middle of the field where Peru was keeping his small heard of alpacas with a baby alpaca in his lap. He was wearing on of Peru’s many hand knitted ponchos, since his own clothing had not been warm enough for the mountain climate.  
  
Peru was sitting next to him to make sure that none of the alpacas took it as an intrusion. While they were usually placid animals, they could get protective now that they were having their babies. Peru knew that they would be able to take his presence as confirmation that everything was alright.   
  
Colombia kissed the baby alpaca on the head, and the look on his was so adorably innocent and happy. He was smiling so genuinely, in a way that Peru so rarely saw. Colombia said, both to himself and to Peru, “This is a happy place.”   
  
He gave the baby another soft kiss on his fleecy head. Peru replied, leaning close so that he could also give the alpaca a stroke under his chin, “I have always found it calming.”  
  
He wondered if Colombia would notice if he just slipped his arm around him and pulled him closer. He decided against it for the moment, even if he would like the physical contact.  
  
Colombia’s eyes were fixed on the small animal in his lap as he said, “I think that I could stay here forever. It’s calm.”  
Peru’s heart always felt like it was glowing when Colombia talked like this about the mountain home that he had worked so hard on. It was his escape and he was glad to share it with someone he really loved. He replied, with a broad smile, “You are welcome here at any time.”   
  
The baby alpaca started to fuss in Colombia’s lap after sitting there contentedly for several straight minutes. Peru knew what was wrong, and he said gently, “He needs feeding. I’ll take him back to his mother.”   
  
He extended his hand, and Colombia handed the baby back over with only a little pout. Peru stood up and carried the baby a short distance to where his mother had been standing being very patient.   
  
Peru placed the baby back down and that baby hurried back to his mother and started nursing happily.   
  
Peru watched them for a moment before an out of place sound caught his attention. It was the dinging of his cell phone, but it was coming from further away than he expected. He turned to look for where it was coming from.  
  
His phone was sitting on the grass next to Colombia, where it had fallen when he had stood up.   
  
Colombia gave him a charming smirk and picked up the dinging phone. He said, “Your brother says-“ He paused and a truly bemused look appeared on his face and Peru had a felling of dread.   
  
Colombia cleared his throat and continued, “Santiago says, ‘quit staring at your boyfriend, and answer my texts.’”   
  
Peru felt a cold jolt down his spine. He knew that both of his brothers knew about his feelings about Colombia and they were usually glib about it. But, he had not intended Colombia to read it.   
  
He scrambled for an explanation. He settled upon, “He’s just joking.”  
But Colombia raised his eyebrows and said, “Do they know that I am here?”   
  
Peru walked back over and sat down on the grass with a sigh. He said, “Yes, they do.”  
He took comfort in the fact that Colombia was smiling as he said, “Do your brothers think we are dating?”   
  
Peru decided to be as honest as possible at this point. Evasion would just make him look like he was hiding his feelings. He kept his eyes on Colombia as he said, “Santi says that ‘everyone’ thinks that we are dating.”   
  
The other man started to laugh at the idea. He said, “You’re sure people think we’re dating? It sounds like Santiago is making that up.”  
  
Peru shrugged. He had made a habit of avoiding the gossip because it very rarely was true. So, he could not be sure. Colombia looked at him with that same laughing smile and said, “Why would they think that?”  
  
It was Peru’s turn to chuckle, and he said, “You are visiting my house, and wearing my poncho, and kissing my alpacas.”   
  
Colombia leaned against him and said, “It is a very comfortable poncho, and your alpacas are very cute.”   
Then, much to Peru’s surprise, he put his hand on top of Peru’s own, and said, “Let them talk. I like it here, and I like you.”  
  
—————————————-  
  
 **Modern  
**  
Peru was standing at the stove stirring a pot of hot chocolate. It was almost done, and he turned to get a cup and a pot holder. He had made all the pot holders himself by weaving together small pieces of fabric. They hung on hooks on the cabinets, each colorful and unique.   
  
He first opened the cabinet and took out a mug. It was one of his favorite mugs. It had little lamas all over it. All of his mugs had llamas on them. It had gotten to the point where his brothers and friends all bought him llama themed mugs. He didn’t mind. He knew it may be kitschy, but he felt like it was a joyful thing.  
  
He placed the mug on the counter and slowly lifted the pot from the stove. He then poured the hot chocolate slowly and carefully into the mug, managing to not spill any on the countertop. Aromatic steam curled up around his face. It smelled good, but he knew the drink wasn’t for him.  
  
He took the mug and walked into his living room with it in hand. Colombia was sitting on his couch. He had shown up at Peru’s doorstep in the morning with no warning. But it was no problem; he was always welcome and he knew it.  
  
Colombia even being awake at this hour meant that he had probably had a long night. Colombia had wrapped one of the knitted blankets from the back of the couch around himself and was sitting there in a warm mass of fabric. He looked comfortable, but he also looked quite tired.   
  
Peru sat next to him and said, “This is for you.”   
He passed over the cup of hot chocolate to Colombia, who took it with a smile. He said, “Thank you, Paco.”  
  
His voice sounded terrible, like his vocal cords were struggling to produce it. He grimaced after he finished speaking and put his free hand to his throat like it hurt.   
  
Peru guessed that he had burned his voice out during a long night of partying, and he hoped that it had been one night and not a several day bender. During a certain period of his life, Colombia had been prone to those, but that seemed to have stopped.   
  
As Colombia took a sip of the hot chocolate and made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat, Peru said, “It’s okay. You don’t need to talk now.”   
  
Colombia turned his beautiful coffee brown eyes to him and gave him a warm smile. He didn’t need to say that he was thankful for the support. It was clear enough.   
  
Colombia leaned against him, and Peru instinctively put his arm around his shoulders. Colombia took another long drink from the mug and let out another appreciative, “Mmmmm.”   
Peru was a little too curious though, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Was it a long night?”   
  
Colombia smiled and nodded. At least he looked happy about it. Peru would have been more concerned if he had looked depressed, as he often did after his bad nights with Mexico. Peru took little issue with his partying if he was happy about it. Nobody could tell Colombia that he wasn’t allowed to spend a night dancing, when it brought him so much happiness.  
  
But, he wanted confirmation that there had been no romantic incidents. He asked, “Alejandro wasn’t there, was he?” Colombia again shook his head as he took another drink.  
  
Then he pulled his sock clad feet up onto the couch and leaned even further back to put more of his weight on Peru. He looked up with an innocent smile, like he wasn’t slowly taking up more and more room because he could.   
  
Now that he was even closer, Peru could smell the scent of old cologne and cigarette smoke clinging to Colombia’s hair and clothing. He had certainly not showered or changed before coming here. Peru said, “And you just decided to come see me.”   
  
Colombia immediately put down the mug. He pointed himself, used both of his hands to make a heart, and then pointed at Peru. Then he smiled again warmly. Peru thought he understood his meaning, and he felt himself blushing.  
  
He felt like he was giving Colombia a safe place to return to, and he was glad to do it. If he could be a comfortable place, he could be happy.  
  
Colombia picked up the mug again and drained it of the last of the hot chocolate. Then, he yawned and stretched. Peru could not help but think that he looked absolutely adorable.   
He said, “I think what you need is a bath, and I have a guest bed with your name on it.”  
  
Colombia nodded happily and leaned in to plant a kiss on Peru’s cheek.


	18. Russia

**1960s  
  
** Mexico was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender to pour his drink. He had ordered a tequila and he expected it to be quick.   
  
He glanced down the bar as he waited and caught eyes staring at him. Prussia was looking right at him with a little smirk on his lips that seemed impish and suggestive.   
  
As he noticed Mexico’s attention, Prussia walked closer. Each step seemed full of intention.  
  
Mexico took his drink from the bartender and said, “Do you want something from me, Gilbert?”   
  
If this was going to be like one of their usual arguments, then he was going to need this drink. He took a sip of it, while he waited for a response. Prussia leaned across the bar to the bartender and said, “A vodka, chilled.”  
  
Then he turned to Mexico and said, “I was just thinking that I’ve never really appreciated how handsome you are before.”   
  
Mexico thought for a moment that he had misheard, because Prussia had never shown him any interest before. But the smirk and the slightly raised eyebrow was undeniably suggestive. He took another sip of his drink and said, “Are you trying to flirt with me?”  
  
Prussia smiled at him in a way that was undeniably charming, “I think that I am succeeding.”   
  
He took the glass of clear liquid, seeming like what he had just said was not strange. Mexico took another drink and said, “What does Ivan think of you flirting with me? I thought you two were together.”  
  
Prussia said, coolly, “Of course he is. He wanted me to talk to you.”   
He leaned even closer and said, “So, do you want to join us for a drink?”   
  
Mexico scoffed. He knew that tone well enough. He had heard it many times. He raised one eyebrow and said, “Just a drink?”Prussia ran a finger softly under his chin, and said, “Maybe more than a drink.”  
  
He then extended the hand that was not holding his drink invitingly. Mexico wasn’t certain what he should say to that offer. He knew that it would be accepting the invitation to whatever was going to happen next. The other man had made his intentions clear enough already.   
  
But, he was intrigued, more intrigued than he should have been. He would be standing here all night if he thought through all the possibilities. In his gut, he already knew how deeply intrigued he was by the Soviet Union, and this was a chance to act on that, even if the invitation came from Prussia.  
  
Something told him that he did not need to worry about the consequences. America was not here, and he could not possibly see.   
  
Mexico took the extended hand, and Prussia led him through the crowd. They finally stopped in front of Russia, who was sitting in a booth on the other side of the room.   
  
Prussia let go of Mexico’s hand, and then stepped forward and handed the drink to Russia. Mexico could feel those cool violet eyes move from Prussia to rake over him. If he had any doubt about the intentions before, he certainly did not after that look.   
  
A shiver ran down his back. Russia was so handsome; he had always thought so. But, the feeling of being appraised like this made him feel flushed and excited.   
  
Russia spoke to him with a suggestive half smile, “Sit with me.”   
  
He patted the place next to him on the booth. Mexico sat and then fixed his gaze on Russia and said, “Gilbert said this was just a drink.”   
  
He wanted to test how brazen Russia would dare to be. He wanted to hear Russia state his intentions plainly. Russia chuckled and then said, “How coy of him. I will be more honest.”   
  
He reached out and put his hand on Mexico’s chin, and firmly drew him closer. His hand was curiously cold, and Mexico could feel goosebumps blooming on his skin. Russia said, his voice smooth, “I want to taste you.”   
  
He then pressed his lips to Mexico’s. His touch was so firm, but not uncomfortable. Mexico knew that he shouldn’t, but he felt himself leaning into it. It felt good to have Russia’s lips urge his own open.   
  
The rational part of his mind felt like Russia was testing when he would pull away. But, he didn’t feel like objecting. He was almost anticipating the moment when Russia would slip his tongue into his mouth.   
  
Then, he felt another hand gently brush his hair to the side, and then a soft kiss on his neck. He gasped and pulled away from Russia, so that he could turn to see who was behind him.   
  
He met Prussia’s eyes. Prussia chuckled at his look of shock and said, “Did you think I was just going to watch?” Mexico said, “You are presuming a lot. What if I don’t want you?”   
  
With the hand on Mexico’s chin, Russia turned his face back towards him. He said, “That is the deal. Gilbert is my partner, and we share. It's both of us or nothing.” Russia ran one thumb over Mexico’s cheek, while keeping their eyes fixed on each other. He added, “And it would be a pity if it was nothing.”  
  
Mexico responded, “Were you going to ask me first?”   
  
Russia raised one pale eyebrow. He put his free hand on Mexico’s hip. He responded, “Do you agree?”   
  
Mexico took a deep breath and tried to decide what to do. He had clashed with Prussia more than once, but this felt right in the moment. He did not want to disentangle himself from Russia’s hands, even if it included Prussia.  
  
While he was still contemplating, Prussia nipped his earlobe, and said, “Don’t act so shy. Francis says you like two better than one.”   
  
Mexico could feel himself flushing angrily. It was true, but he didn’t want to be mocked.   
  
Russia said firmly, “Gil, be quiet and let him decide.” Something about his voice was sublimely exciting.  
  
Mexico felt Prussia’s hand slip onto his other hip. It was enough to make his mind up for now. He said, “I agree.”  
  
He leaned forward again, hoping that Russia would kiss him again. Russia said, “You made the right decision, beautiful.” Then he pulled him into another kiss, even more deeply now that he had the permission.   
  
Prussia said in his ear, “I wonder if you’re as loud in bed as your are everywhere else. Let’s find out.”  
  
Russia’s hand slipped from his hips, and Prussia’s other hand took its place. Mexico felt himself pulled back so that he was more firmly on Prussia’s lap. Then Russia moved even closer, so that Mexico was pressed between them. He was trapped between them, but he could not get himself to care.  
  
Mexico put his own hands on Russia’s face, and held it tenderly. Russia’s presence was so quietly in control. Mexico could not see what was happening, but he could feel lips laying soft kisses on his neck, and making him shiver.   
  
There was a hand undoing the buttons of his shirt. He felt overwhelmed by the sensation of one man holding him firmly and pressing his tongue into his mouth, and the other now nibbling gently on the skin of his neck.   
  
Prussia’s hands left Mexico’s hips only long enough to ease the shirt off his shoulders enough to expose his chest. Mexico could feel his own heart beating quickly, excited by the prospect of being this exposed in front of two men.   
  
Russia broke the kiss to look at him with a cool confident smile. He said, not really speaking to Mexico, “Such a beautiful body. Don’t you think, Gil?”   
  
Mexico could feel the warm breath on his neck as Prussia said, “You have good taste, Vanya. But, I still haven’t heard him.”   
  
Mexico wanted to object to being talked about like he wasn’t there. Before he could say anything, Russia ran one hand over his chest, and ended teasing one nipple. Mexico let out a breathy moan. Prussia said, with a smirk, “Very pretty.”  
  
Then he turned Mexico’s head, and silenced him with a kiss. His kiss was different; it felt hotter. Mexico could feel his body getting hot and reactive.   
  
Russia started kissing down his chest, still using both hands to play with his nipples. Prussia’s hands were holding his hips in place.  
  
He released Mexico’s long enough for Mexico to let out a soft, “Fuck.” He could feel all of his blood rushing away from his head in response to Russia’s ministrations. If his hips were not being held, he might have start grinding them.  
  
Prussia grazed his nails over Mexico’s bare hips and said, chastising him, “Language.” Mexico groaned in response.   
  
Then Prussia’s lips were fully flush against Mexico’s again, and his tongue was in Mexico’s mouth. Mexico was pulling in ragged, excited breaths through his nose.   
  
If he could take a moment to calm himself, he could question what he was doing. But, his mind was on the overwhelming physical sensation. It only got stronger as Russia began to undo his pants and teasingly touch just below his waistband.   
  
When Prussia pulled away this time, Mexico was practically panting against his mouth.   
  
Russia spoke again, leaning close to Mexico’s other ear, “You are such a naughty boy. You are dreaming of us while you are asleep next to Alfred. If only he knew.”  
  
Mexico woke with a start, and was immediately aware of how overheated and aroused he felt. The dream had ended at exactly the wrong moment, leaving him unsatisfied and wanting.   
He let out a long sigh and looked up a the ceiling. He would have to wait for the feeling to fade, or he could fall back asleep and hope for it to continue.   
  
America stirred in his sleep, and smiled happily. He would certainly not be making that face if he knew what Mexico was dreaming about. Mexico looked at him, and tried to will his body to forget the dream.   
  
America looked so peaceful and blissfully unaware. America turned over and put his arm over Mexico.   
  
It was a normal, loving position, but it felt strange at the moment. Mexico sighed and closed his eyes. He hoped he would be able to fall back asleep.


	19. Spain

**The Middle Ages  
**  
Spain had closed all the windows in his room in an attempt to block out the noise of the festival going on down below in the open courtyard. He wanted to pretend that it was just a quiet night like any other. He wanted some time alone to read and pray and nothing else. Al-Andalus had explained that it was supposed to be a night of merriment, but Spain wanted no part of it. It was indulgent and sinful; he had learned that his guardian would often offer him temptation. But, he knew the essence of piety was to resist.   
  
So, he sat on his bed with a book in front of him. Spain took a deep breath and for a moment the unpleasant sound of the outside world faded away and it was just him alone.  
  
He placed his finger on the spot on the page where he had stopped reading the night before. The Latin was difficult, but not impossible. It just required complete concentration.  
  
But, just as he was able to find a place of calm and quiet, his bedroom door banged open, and he heard his brother’s voice cracking over his name, “Antonio!” Without any prompting, Portugal flung himself onto the bed. Spain let out a disgruntled noise. He wished his brother at least had the decency to knock so he could tell him to go away.   
  
Spain did not want any company, even his little brother was not welcome. He said tersely “Go away. I am reading.”   
Portugal completely ignored his hints that he wanted to be alone and replied, “You can read any time. I want to have fun tonight.” Spain snarled back, “Then go have fun.” His little brother again ignored him and replied, “But it is a festival! Come with me.”  
  
Spain let out a grunt and tried to return to his book. But, just as he did so, Portugal pulled the book away from him.   
  
With the book in his lap, the younger of the two looked at it and sighed. He looked at Spain and said, “Roman history again? Our father is never coming back. It isn’t healthy to dwell on him.”   
  
Spain understood what his brother was saying, but he knew that Portugal did not understand. He was not foolish enough to think that their father was going to come back from Byzantium and embrace them as his sons. But that was not why he was reading the tales of Rome’s strongest emperor’s again.   
  
He attempted to explain, “I know that. I want to study what he did so that I can replicate it.” Spain bit his lip to stop himself from saying more. He did not want his brother to know the ambitions for an empire that rivaled their father’s that simmered in his heart. When he finally had an empire, no one would be able to call him a bastard again.   
  
He heard Portugal let out a long sigh before saying, “And it is crucial for you to do this all tonight?”   
His tone was enough that Spain accepted defeat and said, “I suppose not.”   
Portugal smiled and said, “You will go with me?”   
  
Spain did not want to go, but he could see that his brother was not going to leave him alone. So, he caved and decided that he would go, but not take the temptation to do anything he shouldn’t.   
  
He stood up and pulled on a long jacket. He usually rejected the Moorish style, but the flowing clothing was very comfortable.   
  
The pair of them were out of the room quickly, with Portugal dragging his brother along. Spain soon found himself in the midst of the noise and commotion. The whole thing felt like an unrestrained storm of color.   
  
Portugal, who still had a firm hold on Spain’s arm, started talking as they weaved between people, “I was reading about the Ottoman sultan. Do you know that he has a harem of women he can choose from?”   
  
Spain found his brother’s babbling irritating, but he tried to reply. He had agreed to this already. So he said, “I don’t care what they accept.”   
But Portugal continued, “But can you imagine it? Beautiful women whenever you want.”   
Spain sighed, “I don’t care about beautiful women.”  
  
He thought his brother had noticed that he took no interest in women, no matter how beautiful. He had tried, and felt such frustration at his lack of reaction to a woman’s body. The bible said that men should not lay together, but he could not deny what he wanted.   
  
Portugal shrugged and said, “Beautiful men then. Both are wonderful and should be appreciated.”   
  
Spain was about to say something biting in response, but Portugal suddenly pulled him in one direction. He said, “Oh, look! A diviner!”   
  
Without waiting for Spain to respond and say that fortune telling was witch’s work, Portugal pulled him over to the tent. The woman sitting within was not as old as Spain expected her to be. He found himself sitting at the table across from the charming dark haired woman.   
  
He wasn’t certain what she was about to do, but he was surprised when she turned to Portugal and said, with a kind smile, “Give me your hand.” Part of him wanted to stop Portugal from doing it, but he had no reason to other than his own misgivings.   
  
His brother did and she looked at his hand for a moment. She seemed to contemplate for a while before saying, “There will be difficulties in your life, but your hard work and discipline will see you through. I see a good deal of happiness in your future.” With that, she folded Portugal’s hand into a fist and said, “Do not worry. You will be fine.”   
  
Then she turned to Spain and said, “And do you want to know what the future holds?”   
  
Despite every instinct that told him not to, Spain rationalized that there could be no harm in trying. He gave her his hand and was surprised at how soft her hands were. She looked at his hand for only a moment before pulling in a sharp gasp.  
  
Spain flinched and said, “What is wrong?”   
  
She said, her eyes still fixed on his hand, “Your love life is the strangest I have ever seen. It is so thick here-“ She ran her finger up part of his hand and continued “It looks like you will have a passionate love. It is so close to your life line; you will devote your life to this love.”   
  
Spain scoffed to himself. The concept that he would fall so deeply in love to the detriment of all of his other ambitions was ludicrous. But, she was not done, “But, you also have the most agonizing heartbreak I have ever seen.” She almost looked like she pitied him as she said, “Your future holds so much pain for you and others.”  
  
Having heard more than enough, Spain pulled his hand away. He did not believe any of this. He would not fall in love and destroy himself for it; that much he was certain of. Without a word to anyone, he stormed out of the tent.  
  
He heard running steps as Portugal chased after him. When he finally caught up with his brother, Portugal said, “Slow down. Are you alright?” Spain shook his head and said, “I’m fine. It doesn’t mean anything."  
  
———————————  
  
 **1521  
**  
Spain had the arrangements for the baptism made, being careful about the details. He had the epiphany the night before that it would be best to baptize the child while they were at sea.   
  
He could wait for them to return to Madrid and do it in a proper cathedral, but the priest serving as his personal confessor had already said he was willing to administer the sacrament, and what was really important was God’s presence, and Spain had no doubt that God had been on his side this whole campaign.  
  
He walked down the hall to the room where the young Aztec prince was. He saw that the translator was standing outside the door, and he took that to mean that the boy was sleeping. It seemed that he had been doing that when he was not crying or asking endless questions about his new surroundings. It was a very good sign that Mexica was so curious about everything, but Spain was getting tired of the constant questions because he was not able to explain the little details of his routines that he had never thought about.   
  
He pushed open the door slowly so that it would not make a sound. Mexica was curled up on the bed with his blankets in his arms. Spain felt a pang of sadness that the little prince wasn’t holding onto him, as he usually did when he was asleep. But, there was plenty of time left in the trip, and he had no intention of putting Mexica in a different chamber. The child stirred in his sleep and whimpered sweetly, which made Spain smile. He was so innocent still, which gave Spain even more reason to baptize him now. He wanted to save the boy from a life of savagery and there was no better time than when he was still innocent.   
  
Spain closed the door, still being sure to be quiet. He could wait until the boy woke up, there was plenty of time. Once outside, he turned to the translator, and said, “Bring him to me as soon as he wakes up.”   
She asked, “What should I tell him? He will ask why.”   
  
Spain knew that she was right, but he did not know how to explain. He said, “Tell him it is a religious ceremony.” He then paused for a moment as he remembered what was the boy’s experience of religion was, and he added, “Make it clear that no one is going to hurt him.”   
  
Mexica awoke and his immediate instinct was to look up for his mother, since he couldn’t feel her arms around him. But after blinking a few times, he remembered where he was. He saw the walls of the very familiar loathsome little wooden room.  
  
Then the image flashed across his mind again of his mother with Spain’s sword through her heart. The pain came back in the middle of his chest and the tears welled up in his eyes. His beautiful life with his mother seemed so far away now. He pulled in a sobbing breath.  
  
The door opened and Mexica pulled in another sob. He was frightened with every fiber of his being that he would see Spain walk through the door. But, it was the translator who had introduced herself as Malintzin. Mexica did not trust her but she seemed to be the only person who spoke his language and had some concern for him.   
  
She saw the tears that had started to form in his eyes and immediately walked over to him. She kept a respectful distance but said, “Don’t cry, dear prince.” Mexica shook his head. His mother would have told him the same thing. But, he couldn’t help but let tears roll down his face. He wiped them away as well as he could.  
  
Malintzin spoke to him, and when he looked up he saw pain on her face, “Spain wishes to see you, your highness. He is waiting for you.”  
Mexica knew he should maintain his dignity, but the last thing he wanted to do was see the man who murdered his mother.   
  
He snapped back, “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”   
As soon as he said it, Mexica regretted the lack of dignity and said, “I didn’t mean that. I will go.”   
  
Still feeling like he was moving through a nightmare, Mexica followed the woman out of the room and down a hall. The few sailors he passed still stared at him and spoke to each other in that language he did not understand. He shrank away from any of them, scared of the blood he knew was on their hands.   
  
They reached the doors to a chamber, which were pushed open in front of him. Spain was standing behind it, and the sight of those green eyes made Mexica want to recoil and run. But, he stood still and did the only thing he could think to do. He questioned, “What am I doing here?”  
  
Malintzin translated it, and Mexica saw anger flash over Spain’s face. He said something and the native woman flinched. She turned back to Mexica, and tried to explain, “He wants you to be part of a ritual.”   
  
Mexica felt uncontrollable fear overtaking his mind. What did that mean? Would it hurt?   
  
Upon seeing his face, she quickly added, “No one is going to hurt you.” Mexica looked around her at Spain suspiciously, but the man seemed to be trying to put a comforting expression on his face. Mexica did not trust it, but he hardly had a choice, so he nodded.  
  
He got as close as he felt comfortable being to Spain and then he stopped. Only then did he notice that there was another man in the room, and he was wearing clothing that seemed stranger than even the usual for these strangers.  
  
Spain stepped closer and put his hand on Mexica’s shoulder. He tried not to cringe away from the touch. Spain looked at him and said something, which Malintzin translated, “He says not to worry. This is sacred and it is for your own good.”  
  
She did not seem to believe the words, even as she translated them. Mexica felt fear rise again, and he could find nothing to comfort himself. He did not understand what was about to happen and was afraid to question it. Spain guided him over so that they were both standing in front of the unfamiliar man in the strange clothing.   
  
Mexica noticed a basin of water in front of him, and he did not know the purpose. There was some conversation that passed between the man he took to be some kind of priest and Spain in a language that sounded even more foreign. Mexica did not understand and it apparently would have been inappropriate to translate for him. He decided to stand perfectly still and hope for some kind of explanation.  
  
The priest suddenly reached down and touched Mexica’s forehead with his finger, and left something wet where it had touched. Unconscious of his actions, Mexica stepped backwards. But, he couldn’t go far because Spain’s hand stopped him. Mexica looked up questioningly and Spain only responded with a smile that was supposed to be soothing.   
  
It did not have the intended effect; it only made Mexica feel less certain. Why was he being touched? What was on his forehead? It became even worse when Spain reached down and picked him up. It was not the first time Spain did it, but each time was more uncomfortable. Those same hands that were now holding him had killed his mother.   
  
Spain stepped forward so that he was standing next to the basin. The priest said something and then Spain looked directly at Mexica and said something. But with no translator present, it meant nothing to Mexica. He responded, “What?” but he realized that Spain couldn’t understand him either.  
  
He felt himself dipping backwards towards the water and took an instinctive breath before his head was completely submerged. He tried not to panic, but the thought occurred to him that Spain was trying to drown him. Was this a sacrifice to some water deity?  
  
It lasted for only a moment before he was pulled back out of the water. Mexica shook his head to try to get the water out of his eyes. He pulled in deep gulping breathes and hoped that he would not be submerged again.   
  
But, thankfully, Spain put him down. He wanted to run, but Spain would not allow him to. Instead, he kneeled down next to him and took a necklace from his pocket and put it around his neck.   
  
Only then did Spain guide him back to Malintzin. Spain said something to her and she, in turn, said, “He says that your name is Alejandro now.”   
Mexica, shivering, cold, and wet, started to cry again and said miserably, “I don’t understand.”   
  
Breaking the usual boundaries of respect, Malintzin hugged him and said, “You will survive this and thrive, little prince.”   
  
—————————-  
 **Early 17th Century  
**  
Spain already knew that it had been a long night, but politics called for some commitment. Most of his colonies had wandered away with their tutors. He had told them that the children were only required to spend some time at the banquet with the court so that they could start learning more adult roles. Many were growing quickly now, and they would need to understand that more would be expected of them.  
  
New Spain was sitting next to him, and Spain took a few quick glances at him. The boy was thirteen and had done a very good job paying attention through the discussion over dinner. But, now his head was resting on his hand, with only his elbow against the table. He was struggling to keep his eyes open.   
  
He looked so cute with the look of unavoidable drowsiness on his face. Spain was proud of him; he had done as he was told. He had been disciplined, but Spain could only ask so much of a teenager.   
  
Everything Spain needed to be present for had already been said. The court had lapsed into conversations about betrothals. Though it did concern his own political future, it was not something they needed his input for.   
  
There was no question of severing his political ties to Austria, much less now that they were technically married. Austria was in Vienna, but any decision about familial political ties would have to be discussed with him as well. For now, this was all just speculation on the possibilities.   
  
He turned to New Spain and said, “How about we get you to bed?”  
The boy turned his eyes to him and said, his voice heavy, “I’m tired.”  
  
Spain found it adorable that he felt the need to say it, when anyone who could see his face knew that already.  
  
He stood up and extended a hand to New Spain, who understood the gesture. He let Spain take his little hand and lead him away from the table. He was starting to grow faster, but he was still small.   
  
Spain felt a small pang of sadness at the fact that New Spain was growing into a teenager now. He was a sweet boy, and he wasn’t sure how puberty would change that.   
  
Spain took New Spain back to his room, like he would have when the boy was younger. It had been instinct, and he had not reflected on it until he was removing his own coat.  
  
By the time he realized that he was should have returned New Spain to his own room, the boy had already laid on the bed and closed his eyes. Spain watched as the boy instinctively made a ball out of the blanket and wrapped his arms around it.   
  
He could try to wake him, but it was too cute. Spain decided that it was better to just let him sleep. He stripped to his under layer and laid down next to New Spain.   
  
New Spain woke with his arms around Spain. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember how he had gotten here. He knew he had been exhausted at the feast the night before, and that he had gone back to Spain’s room. Then, he assumed, he must have fallen asleep.  
  
He hoped that he had not annoyed his tutor too much by taking up space in the bed. But, he was sure that Spain would not mind. He was usually understanding when it came to these things.   
  
Spain opened his eyes and said, “Good morning.” New Spain said, “I’m sorry that I fell asleep.”   
  
The older man shook his head and gave New Spain an indulgent smile. He said, stroking the boy’s hair, “It’s no problem. You said the cutest thing in your sleep last night.”   
  
New Spain wanted to ask what he had said, since he honestly did not remember his dreams. He said hesitantly, “What did I say?”

Spain obliged, “You cuddled up against me and said that you loved me.”   
  
——————————-  
  
 **17th Century  
**  
Spain felt quite smug about this idea, he had finally decided on the perfect gift for his favorite colony. It had taken some thought to find something that was more exciting that the clothing and jewels that he usually gave him.   
  
He had thought back to New Spain’s excitement about learning about the animals of the Old World, and he realized that the best thing he could possibly give New Spain was something new to amuse him. This would certainly also give New Spain something new and interesting to occupy himself with, and it would erase any doubts that Spain loved him.  
  
The present squirmed in his hands and made an impatient whimpering noise, and Spain petted his head with one finger in an attempt to calm him. He had already planned this, and every detail was meant to make New Spain feel special.   
  
Spain opened the door with his free hand and walked into the room where many of his colonies were spending their afternoon. Peru, Bolivia and Chile were playing a heated game of cards at a table, while Colombia and Venezuela were having a conversation on their own. But, Spain only had one person in mind. New Spain was sitting on a couch with a book in his lap, which Spain recognized as a book of French grammar. New Spain had recently started learning the language, and he was making quick progress. It was amusing how quickly he learned; he really was very clever.   
  
In order to make the surprise work, he could not let New Spain see his gift beforehand. He spoke, while New Spain still had his back to him, “Alejandro, I have a gift for you.”The boy turned, as though he was about to stand up, and Spain stopped him, “Don’t stand up, just close your eyes.”   
  
New Spain did as he was told, though Spain was sure that he was intrigued. Spain stepped closer and did not say a word until he placed the squirming puppy in New Spain’s lap. As soon as he did, he said, “You may look now.”   
  
The boy opened his eyes and a look of joy slowly appeared on his face as he saw the puppy in his lap. He picked up the puppy and held it closer to his face, where it struggled to lick at the boy’s face.  
  
Spain smiled to himself. This was exactly the reaction he was looking for; he could see that the other colonies were glaring at New Spain, but he wanted them to be jealous. They should know that New Spain was his favorite and had a special place in the empire, the gifts were only an expression of it.   
  
New Spain cradled the new puppy in his arms, and it was so charming to see him holding it like a child. There was something very lovely about seeing him being nurturing, when he was usually so composed. New Spain looked up at him, and the wonder in his eyes was beautiful and said, “Thank you, Tony.”   
  
Spain kneeled down so that he could speak in New Spain’s ear. This point he did not want to make in front of his other colonies. He said, “I knew you would love it. There are four more in the litter, and they are yours if you want them. Would you like them?”   
Without a thought, New Spain nodded. Spain had guessed as much. He said, this time putting his hand on New Spain’s leg and not caring who saw, “Then come to my office. You can meet them and then thank me however you want.”   
  
—————————————-  
 **17th Century  
**  
Spain finished his stock of letters, which were meant to be sent over night. They were orders to be carried out with the utmost haste against his enemies. One heretic in particular was harrying his fleets and he would have his vengeance.   
  
Once he had sealed the last of them, he looked up. New Spain was sitting on the couch in the room, his gaze fixed on the book in his lap. He had been there most of the day and already managed to read through another book. Spain had insisted on his presence, because he enjoyed being able to look up and see him there. He had told himself all day that as soon as he finished his work, he would go over there and enjoy his colony. But, the day had been long and the work of politics seemed to be endless. So, New Spain had remained and quietly read through the day.   
  
But, now the work had finally ended, he stood up from his desk and walked over to the couch. New Spain looked up as Spain approached and surreptitiously put the book aside. As Spain sat down, his colony said, “So, are you finally done?”  
  
With absolute certainty of his course, Spain placed his hand on New Spain’s thigh and said, “War takes far too much of my time, but it is the Lord’s work.”   
He leaned closer to New Spain and continued talking, “I have been craving you all day.”   
The other turned to him and said, “I haven’t been out of your sight.”   
Spain could feel the heat of the other’s body under the clothing and he replied, “But touching is so much more satisfying.”  
  
He wanted far more than just this conversation. He had been watching New Spain all day and just talking was hugely unsatisfying. Without waiting for another word from the boy, Spain closed the distance between them and joined their lips.   
  
He heard New Spain let out an indignant squeak, like he had not expected the kiss. But in a moment, he relaxed. Spain did this regularly enough that he was used to it. He felt New Spain yield and he pulled the boy closer. This was exactly what he needed after a long day of hard work.  
  
Spain pulled away for a moment to say, “I want you on my lap.”   
New Spain drew in a breath and said, “Tony, do we-”   
Spain cut him off; he was in no mood for a discussion, “I just want to be close to you. I’ll be gentle.”  
  
He did not give New Spain time to respond, because he already knew the answer. He pulled his colony into another kiss, this one even deeper. While he was doing so, he pulled New Spain into his lap, where he could more easily let his hands roam.   
  
Just as his hands reached the other’s pants, the door banged open. A mortal came in and said, “Sir, the king demands your presence.”   
  
Spain let out a long sigh of frustration, “Tell him that I am busy.”   
The mortal shook his head and said, “He told me to tell you that it has to do with England and it is urgent.”  
  
This could only be news of an impending attack, and Spain could not afford to ignore it for the sake of his lust. He sighed again and said, “I am sorry, Alejandro.”   
  
He put his hand on New Spain’s face. But the other said, “I understand, the empire needs to be seen to. I can wait.”  
—————————  
 **Mid 17th Century**  
  
Spain watched as Mexico followed the directions of the dance master, his body moved with slow measured care. It was obvious that, though he was graceful and clever, he was still learning the steps. Spain had yet to see a mistake though, every step was falling in place. He watched closely though; any mistake would give him an opportunity. He waited until Mexico took a step out of line, and it wasn’t long before he detected an off-beat step. It was a small mistake, and it was so minor that the dance master did not even note it. But, Spain was watching carefully and he noticed. He raised his hand and said, “Stop.” Mexico followed his order out of reflex, Spain couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.   
  
Spain stepped forward and gestured dismissively to the mortal in the room, “You may go.”   
The man bowed and stepped out of the room, leaving Spain alone with Mexico and a lone violinist.   
  
He spoke to his colony, “Do you know where you made a mistake?” He met the other’s eyes.  
  
Mexico responded with a slight smirk, “It was one off-beat, Tony. I had the rest right.”  
  
Spain decided to toy with him. He said, “I expect it to be perfect. Do you think you can do it perfectly?”  
  
The raised eyebrow from Mexico was very familiar; he always reacted that way to a challenge. He said, “I can do it.” Spain smiled to himself, he loved seeing this competitive spirit. He gestured to the violinist who immediately played a volta.   
  
Spain took the first step and Mexico followed him. He watched closely as Mexico matched his movements perfectly on beat. With the proper timing, Spain pulled his colony into closed position, his hand on Mexico’s shoulder for a beat, and then put his hands on his waist. On the final beat, he lifted his colony. He noted with a pang of disappointment that this was getting harder to do as Mexico got older.   
  
As the music died, Mexico put both of his hands on his shoulders. The boy’s smirk was undeniable, he knew that he had not missed a beat. When his feet were back on the ground, Mexico said, “Was that perfect enough for you?”  
  
Spain brushed back and piece of Mexico’s hair, “Yes, it was.” He kissed Mexico softly on the lips and added, “Good boy.”  
  
————————————-  
  
 **Mid 17th Century  
**  
New Spain sent away the servants who had brought the water for his bath. He enjoyed this as a time of the day that he could spend alone and in comfort. He remembered that his mother had insisted on baths at least twice per day. It had always been calming to feel the water on his skin and think back on when his mother had bathed with him. The thought was calming after a hard day.  
  
As was usual, he stripped off all of his clothing, including most of his jewelry, but he was careful not to remove any of his rings. He set them carefully aside before stepping into the warm water. He let out a sigh of relief. It felt nice to be able to relax in an environment that reminded him of happier days that were long past.   
  
He let himself sink in to his shoulders and then he closed his eyes and rested his head on the side of the tub. For a moment, he was completely at peace. There was no sound but the silent lapping of water as it settled around him. There was nothing but silence and the heat on his skin. He had sent the servants away to have this peace.  
  
But, it was interrupted by the sound of one of the doors creaking open. New Spain said with irritation, “I said I did not want to be disturbed.”   
The response came in a smooth voice that he knew all too well, “I do not want to disturb you, Ale.”  
  
New Spain opened his eyes and turned to look at Spain, who had just entered the room and closed the door behind him. The Spaniard has a smile on his face like a hungry wolf. The tone of his voice was one that New Spain knew well; it was the tone of a conquistador. New Spain was suddenly aware of his own vulnerability and the fact that his only clothing was on the other side of the room. But he let none of his trepidation show as he responded, “Why the sudden visit, Tony?”  
  
Spain replied, taking slow deliberate steps towards the tub, “I was told that you were alone, and I thought I would come keep you company.” He paused for a moment and looked down at his colony with a smirk, “And you are so beautiful like this.”   
  
New Spain could think of nothing to do but to respond and attempt to win back his solitude. He said, with an attempt at a charming smile, “Do you really think so? Perhaps it is better to leave something to the imagination.”   
  
But, that did nothing to lessen the hungry look on Spain’s face. If anything, he took it as a challenge. He said, “I do not think so. I have the right to see what is mine.”  
  
He reached down and put his hand on New Spain’s shoulder and then tracing up his neck, and ending by running a single finger under his chin. The feeling of it violated every sense of calm New Spain had.   
  
Spain smiled, more to himself than to his colony, “I must have you painted, so I can capture how beautiful you are.”   
New Spain found another response, “You can do that another time, Tony.”   
  
Spain pulled away for a moment to move a small chair from the periphery of the room so that he could sit right behind New Spain. He then said, “You haven’t washed your hair yet. Let me help you.”   
  
New Spain knew that he had no reason to object. But, he kept his response light, “I am capable of doing it myself. I am not a little boy.”   
Spain chuckled. He ran one finger along the curve where New Spain’s neck met his shoulder. It was an enticing touch, teasing and yet promising. Spain said, “I can see that. But, allow me to spoil you.”  
Again, New Spain could not deny him, so he simply said, “If you want to.”   
  
Spain tangled one hand in his colony’s dark hair, which was growing out again. He said, “You have such lovely hair, Ale, but it is too long again. It must be cut tomorrow.”   
  
New Spain knew that this comment would be coming eventually since he had let his hair grow past the length that Spain insisted on. But, he decided to argue anyway because he enjoyed having his hair long. He said, “Let me keep it for a little while.”   
Spain responded swiftly, “No. I have told you before that civilized men do not wear their hair long. And I like to be able to see your face.”   
  
New Spain gave up on the fight and started calculating how long it would be before his hair got to this length again. While New Spain thought, Spain grabbed the pitcher sitting next to the tub, which had been used to fill the tub. He dipped it gently into the water and then brought it back out. Spain said, “Close your eyes.”  
  
New Spain hesitated for a moment but obeyed. Spain then carefully poured the water over his colony’s hair. The feeling was surprisingly pleasant, and for a moment New Spain’s trepidation melted away. But when it stopped, he felt Spain’s hand under his chin, guiding his face. He opened his eyes just as Spain kissed him. He let himself yield to the kiss.   
  
When he finally had the chance, New Spain pulled away and said, “Tony, I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to be the whore that they all say I am. If you love me, you will not force me to be.” He hoped that it would be enough to keep Spain from going further.   
  
Spain bit his lower lip for a moment, contemplating his options. But he eventually said, “Alright, but when you are done here, come to me. I want to be with you tonight.”   
  
New Spain nodded in agreement. But, as Spain left the room, New Spain let himself sink into water and fought the feeling that there was no place that was really his sanctuary.  
  
————————————  
 **Late 17th Century  
**  
It was one of the nights when Spain allowed his colonies to have some fun together. They were all in the ballroom talking. New Spain generally kept himself at the periphery of the gathering. He could see Peru with his brother’s flanking him and if he was seeking amusement, he would go attempt to talk to them. But he did not have the energy for it, since it would only result in a fight.  
  
But, Cuba walked over to him and said, “Hello, Alejandro. Are you well?” New Spain looked up at him and realized that Cuba had grown several inches since they had last spoken, and it gave New Spain the sad sinking feeling that it had been longer than he had thought.   
  
But he smiled, and it felt like the first genuine smile he had in a few weeks at least. He couldn’t be miserable around Cuba; his mind darted back to when they had both been children and life had been happier. He replied, “You’ve gotten so tall, Carlos. The things I miss when we don’t sleep in the same room!”  
  
That got a full, warm smile from Cuba. He had been formal before, like he was afraid of making a mistake. But, that melted away. He said, “I’m taller than you now. I bet I could pick you up.”   
His tone had a lovely nostalgic glow of childhood that lifted New Spain’s spirits. He smirked back, “You could try.”   
  
Cuba’s expression changed again, this time becoming more serious. He said, his eyes looking almost sad, “You can still talk to me, you know. We might not be in the same room anymore, but that doesn’t make me any less your friend.”   
  
He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. New Spain wanted to tell him, since Cuba had been his friend since he had first arrived in Madrid. But, he couldn’t bring any words to his lips. It would only be painful for him to hear, and no one could intercede between him and Spain. So, he said instead, “I am well. I would like to see you again.”   
  
Cuba almost imperceptibly shook his head like he was trying to deny something to himself. When he spoke again, he sounded almost pained, “Would you really, Ale? I have missed you so much.” He leaned forward and took New Spain’s hand in his own.   
  
New Spain was focused on the other so that he didn’t notice Spain’s presence until his hand closed on his wrist. His hand was pulled away from Cuba’s. His voice dangerously sharp, Spain said, “Carlos, you need to leave.”   
  
He had no choice but to back away from New Spain. He gave his friend one more pained look. Spain wasted no time in dragging New Spain from the room, his grip on the boy’s wrist.   
  
Once they were out of earshot of the other colonies, Spain turned on him and said, “I thought I made it clear that no one but me can touch you.”  
New Spain pulled his wrist away and he could already feel the bruise forming there. He snarled back, “Carlos is my friend! He didn’t mean anything by it.”   
  
But Spain’s expression only darkened. He said, “You can’t believe that. Anyone will take advantage of you as soon as I turn my back.”  
New Spain refused to back down when it came to the one person he was certain had no motives other than friendship. He countered again, “He doesn’t want to fuck me!”   
Spain’s voice was dangerously calm when he said, “Rules are rules. No exceptions. If you can’t follow them, I will lock you in your room until you can behave yourself.”   
  
New Spain’s mind flashed for a moment to all the things he would miss if he was limited to that. He said, aghast at the idea, “You wouldn’t.”   
Spain smirked, “I can do whatever I want with what is mine. Every freedom you have is a gift from me. Now, do you want to defy me?”   
  
New Spain swallowed his exceptions, and said, “No. I’m sorry.” He had no real remorse, but it was the best way to placate Spain. As he expected, Spain looked satisfied. The Spaniard said, “Good. Go straight to bed. You have had too much socialization for one night.”  
  
———————————————-  
  
 **Late 17th Century  
**  
New Spain was coming back from a ride, which was his best escape for a day from the stresses of court. There was little reason to worry about Spain though, because he had been gone for several days in a row in the Caribbean protecting his trading routes from English intervention.   
  
But, that left New Spain alone with his colonizer’s spies. He had noticed a long time ago that there were many servants who watched him when he thought they weren’t looking. He knew the intention too. Spain did not trust him to be alone, and if he were to step out of line, those same people would report to Spain immediately. But, when he was riding, New Spain was truly alone. It was just him and the horse with the wind in his hair. But, it was only a temporary freedom.   
  
He felt distinctly like he was willingly stepping back into a cage, but he knew on a rational level that it wouldn’t be possible to escape. Before stepping through the door, New Spain took a deep breath and got ready to fake every emotion.   
  
Once he was inside, the Philippines came up to him and said, “Antonio returned a half of an hour ago. He asked where you were. I told him that you were out.”   
New Spain asked quietly, “Is he upset?”   
  
She shook her head in response, “He seems to be in a good mood. It must have been a good trip.”  
New Spain only had one more question, “Where is he? I should not keep him waiting.”   
Philippines seemed to have expected this question, because she immediately said, “He is in his bedroom”   
  
New Spain knocked on the door, but he knew it was a formality. He could not think of a time that Spain had turned him away. As he expected, he heard Spain said, “Come in.”   
  
As New Spain opened the door, Spain turned to look at him. There was an immediate smile on the older man’s face. New Spain said, with a painfully careful smile, “Welcome home, Tony.”   
  
Spain responded by gesturing imperiously and saying, “Come here, Ale. I have something for you.”   
  
New Spain obeyed because he knew he had little choice. He was also fairly certain this was a gift since it was usual for Spain when they had been apart. Once they were facing each other, Spain leaned in and said, “I have missed you so much.”  
  
Without any other warning, he kissed New Spain, holding the younger with one hand on his back and another under his chin. It was so sudden that for a moment New Spain forgot to kiss back, but he fell into the old charade easily. He let Spain take his fill before pulling away.  
  
Spain said, “I should bring you with me. I get so lonely without you.”   
New Spain responded as smoothly as he could, “I would like that. But, one of us needs to be here to make sure no one is fomenting rebellion.”   
Spain smiled at him and said, “What would I do without you?”   
  
Then he released his colony and turned to a small box that had been among his luggage. Spain then turned back to New Spain and held out the box to him. New Spain took it with rising excitement. He opened the box to reveal a ruby ring. The gemstone was circled by diamonds. He said, “A ring?”  
  
Spain replied, “Yes, give me your hand. I want to see it on your finger.” New Spain extended the hand that he did not wear his engagement ring on.   
Spain took it, but he said, “The finger I really wanted is already occupied. Do you think she will mind if I remove this?”   
  
He ran his finger over New Spain’s engagement ring.   
  
New Spain wondered if this was a veiled proposal. Surely there was only one reason to place a ring on that finger. He replied, being as evasive as he could, “You would need to break my engagement first. And you don’t want that, do you?”   
  
Spain chuckled to himself, and countered, “It’s always a possibility. But for now, wear it on your other hand, and it will be our little secret.” New Spain nodded and let Spain slip the heavy ring on his finger, where it felt like a very pretty shackle. Without allowing him another word, Spain pulled him into another kiss.   
  
———————————  
  
 **Early 18th Century  
**  
New Spain found himself leaning against Spain as he walked towards the bedroom. He felt unsteady on his feet, even though he had not intended to drink that much. But, it had felt like he could never finish a single glass, but there was always more wine.   
  
At the end, Spain had looked disapprovingly at his half full glass and said, “Are you going to waste the rest of that?” New Spain had not wanted anymore wine, but he was not going to directly disobey Spain, especially when they were in public.   
  
The rest of the wine felt like it had gone directly to his head, and Spain’s presence was welcome support to keep himself from stumbling. Spain’s arm slipped easily around his waist and held him there against his hip.   
  
New Spain knew the feeling of drunkenness well enough to know that he would just stumble if he were to try to pry himself away from the other man. Spain planted a kiss on his cheek as he wobbled closer.   
  
He said softly in his ear, “You’re cute, you know that?” New Spain couldn’t summon a response, but Spain didn’t really seem to want one. He didn’t give him more than a few seconds to respond before he turned New Spain’s head and kissed him deeply on the lips.   
  
New Spain felt slightly limp in his arms. He had no will to resist the kiss, and it felt good if he closed his eyes and let himself forget who he was kissing. The hand on his face was surprisingly gentle, as Spain would be when he thought he was getting his way.   
  
New Spain stayed silent and let himself be led, stopping for occasional kiss. He felt almost indifferent to the contact. After the long day, he wished he could be left alone to sleep. But, he knew that Spain would be disappointed if he tried to leave now.   
  
Spain settled himself in a soft armchair, and pulled New Spain onto his lap. New Spain decided that he had to say something before Spain continued. He said, “Tony, I’m too tired tonight.”   
  
Spain put a single finger to his lips to stop him from continuing. He said, “Shhh…stay here with me tonight. Let me touch you. I promise that I won’t ask for more.”   
  
New Spain felt a hand on his hip, making it so that he would not get up and try to leave. It felt like it was a warning to him that if he got up, there would be forceful restraint. He internally resigned himself to staying where he was, until Spain decided to let him leave.   
  
Spain ran one finger under his jaw and said with a smirk, “You are such a beauty.”   
  
New Spain felt a slightly drunk blush rising in his cheeks. He had heard Spain said it so many times, but it still effected him. Spain seemed to have something on his mind. He continued, “In fact, the Ottoman empire made me an offer for peace tonight.”  
  
New Spain felt like this had little to do with him, but he knew Spain wouldn’t bring it up at this moment unless he could tie it to something intimate. He took the bait and said, “What did he offer?”  
  
Spain’s hand tightened on his hip. Spain replied, “He said he would make peace with me if I let him have a night with you.” His hand tightened even more and New Spain could see a dark protectiveness in his eyes as he said,, “And I told him that I would lose my empire a hundred times than let him ever touch you.”  
  
New Spain tried to figure out how he felt about this information. It was clear to him that Spain meant it to be a sign of his commitment. But, New Spain felt like he had been discussed like chattel without his knowledge.   
  
Then, slowly, his drunken thoughts turned slowly to the Ottoman empire. He had seen him so many times. The tall, handsome man full of charm and smiles.  
  
Completely unbidden, he felt his cheeks growing hotter at the idea of the man.   
  
His mind was only brought back to the present by Spain saying, “I love you.” And pulling him into another kiss.  
  
———————————————-  
  
 **Mid 18th Century  
**  
Spain pulled New Spain into the bed onto his lap. He started leaving little kisses on the boy’s neck. The boy squirmed in response, which was rather pleasing.   
  
Spain ran his hand through his hair and grazed his teeth across a sensitive spot on his neck watched the boy react. The look of pleasure on his face was sublime. He looked so handsome like this, completely enraptured by sensation. If only he could get a painter to capture that look to save it forever. He never looked more handsome than when he lost control.   
  
He squeezed the boy’s thigh, which got him a pretty moan. He had something he wanted to ask, but he was making sure he could loosen New Spain’s tongue first. He didn’t want any resistance or lies.   
  
He moved his hand up New Spain’s thigh, and stroked his thumb against a sensitive spot that he knew well. New Spain let out another beautiful, throaty moan. Spain smiled to himself, enjoying this little show. Someone so young was so easy to play when he had so many sensitive spots.  
  
He then ran his tongue over a spot just below New Spain’s ear. He felt the tremble go through New Spain’s body and he knew it was enough now.   
  
Satisfied, he said, “Alejandro, my darling, I have something to ask you.”   
  
He saw a slight twinkle of fear in New Spain’s eyes. But, that was unwarranted; if he told the truth then there was nothing to be worried about. He would be glad to give New Spain nothing but pleasure if he liked the answer.   
  
He said in the boy’s ear, softly enough to not sound mad, “I saw that you were talking to Sadik tonight.”   
New Spain immediately said, “Tony, it isn’t what you are thinking.”  
  
Spain did enjoy the little whine he got in his voice when he was scared. But, he wasn’t going to give in to that cute little plea, not until he got an answer.   
  
He laid another kiss on New Spain’s soft, sensitive neck as a form of reassurance. Spain continued with his question, “What I want to know, my little prince, is what he was talking to you about. What did he say? Did he make a pass at you?”   
  
New Spain’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. Spain ran his thumb over the spot on his colony’s thigh again to calm him. He did not need to be so nervous.   
  
Like the obedient boy he was, New Spain started talking again, “I tried not to speak to him, but he insisted. He said that he just wanted to give me a gift.”   
  
Spain felt a burn in his chest, the slow building of anger. He did not want that Turk trying to give anything to his colony, especially since it would be some sort of bribe.   
  
He said, his voice coming out as an angry growl, “What kind of present?” New Spain replied again, wonderfully obedient, “It was just a bauble. A necklace.”   
  
Spain instinctively glanced at New Spain’s neck, and he was relieved to see it bare except for a gold chain that held a cross. It was good reassurance, but it was not yet enough.   
He said, “And did you accept it?”   
New Spain’s eyes were wide, but they seemed honest. He said, with a charming childish sincerity, “Of course not. I don’t take anything from anyone but you.”   
Spain moved his free hand to the back of the boy’s head and said, “That’s a good boy.”   
  
The jealousy in his gut was not yet abated. He grabbed a handful of New Spain’s dark hair and pulled his neck back enough for it to hurt. He said, “Remember that if you start taking gifts like a common whore, I will treat you like one.”   
  
Spain held him there for a moment, watching as New Spain’s eyes watered. The sweetest whine of pain leaked through his lips. Spain did enjoy all the sounds that the boy made.  
  
He let go and said, “Now kiss me, and all is forgiven.” New Spain did as he was told and pressed his lips against Spain’s.  
  
——————————-  
 **Mid 18th Century**  
  
New Spain didn’t really notice how much he was drinking. It seemed that every time he reached for his glass of wine, it was completely full. He wasn’t sure how much he had actually had, but he started to find every quip that left Spain’s lips a little funnier, and his laughter was less restrained.   
  
He knew that perhaps it was too much as Spain’s hand slipped onto his thigh under the table and he didn’t immediately think to push it off. It was only when Spain’s fingers tightened on his leg that he put his own hand on Spain’s and pushed it off.   
  
He leaned over, slightly further than he intended, almost falling on Spain, and said to Spain, “Not in public, Tony.”   
  
Spain smiled at him in a way that made him feel like he was being appraised like a particularly nice piece of meat. Spain replied, “I think you have had enough public for the night.”   
  
He stood and offered his hand to New Spain. Though he didn’t really want to leave the banquet to be alone with Spain, New Spain knew he couldn’t say no without causing some kind of scene, so he took the hand and let himself be guided to his feet.   
  
Then he realized how much he had really drank as the feeling of drunken fog hit him all at once.   
  
Spain started to walk, and New Spain followed him. New Spain felt like a baby horse. His legs were wobbly beneath him, more so than he expected.   
  
He felt himself sway and then thought that he might trip and fall. But, there was suddenly an arm around his waist. He looked over to see Spain very close to him, with his arm around his waist.   
  
New Spain said, not really thinking, “Thank you, Tony.”   
  
He felt a hot flush in his cheek at how firmly Spain was holding him. Spain smiled at him and put his free hand on New Spain’s cheek and said, his voice low, “That’s a very cute blush, my little prince.”   
  
New Spain knew that tone well, and he was not prepared to hear it when he could barely keep himself on his feet. He felt like he was outside of his own body as Spain tipped his face and kissed him fully on the lips.   
  
He closed his eyes and felt like he could float away, if only Spain was not holding him. He wished he could float away and be anywhere else.   
  
Spain’s lips urged his open, and he didn’t feel like he had enough control of his own body to resist. The older man’s tongue slipped assertively into his mouth. For a moment he thought he might gag at the tongue teasing along his palate.   
  
In his foggy mind, it felt like Spain might thrust his tongue even deeper into his mouth. It was too much and he felt overstimulated.   
  
Suddenly, the thought came to him that they were still in public. Someone could walk into this hallway at any moment and see him limp in Spain’s arms with the man’s tongue almost down his throat. He started to pull away from the kiss and said, “No. Someone is going to see.”   
  
He wasn’t certain if Spain understood his meaning, since the words were not as coherent as he wished. But, he did seem to understand well enough to say, “Then I will take you somewhere private.”   
  
Mexico felt like they were at Spain’s bedroom in a moment, though he vaguely remembered walking there with his feet still feeling clumsy beneath him. Before he was completely aware of what was happening, they were both inside and the door was closed behind them.   
  
Then both of Spain’s hands were on his waist and their lips were together again. New Spain tried to step away, but couldn’t quite find his footing. With his eyes closed, it felt like he could so easily topple. He grabbed onto Spain’s shoulders to steady himself.   
  
Spain stopped kissing him long enough to say, “Oh, you are eager.” New Spain wanted to say that he had only done it to keep himself from falling, but Spain silenced him again with a kiss before he could.   
  
Spain grabbed his butt a little too hard and he gasped. Spain spoke again in his ear, in a tone that almost sounded mocking, “Aw, do you like that.”   
New Spain tried to respond, “Tony, I-“   
  
Spain’s lips were back on his in a moment like a gag, silencing any objection.   
  
He felt himself being backed up, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew what was coming. Spain gave him a teasing smile before giving him one push that made him fall backwards onto the bed.  
  
New Spain tried to push himself up, but his limbs didn’t seem to want to obey him. Before he could do anything, Spain was on top of him, pulling his shirt and jacket from his body. He tried again to bring objections to his lips, “Tony, I don’t want-“   
  
Spain’s teeth made contact with his neck and his words were silenced by a yelp. The words were sinuous as they left Spain’s mouth, “Don’t be that way, my love.”   
  
He put one hand between New Spain’s legs and gave him a hand squeeze that made New Spain writhe. He hated the way that he arched up to rub against the pleasant sensation. He didn't mean to, but his body was acting against him.  
  
Spain added to the feeling of humiliation by saying, “I think that you do want.” He run his tongue up the length of New Spain’s neck and added, “I think you want very much.”   
  
New Spain could feel himself shaking. He tried to speak again, this time accompanied with a shove against the Spaniard’s shoulders, “I’m not ready.”   
  
He half expected Spain to ignore him again, but the other man sighed. Spain said, “Fine! I thought you would show me some gratitude for once.”   
  
With that, he laid down on the far pillow and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. His back was to New Spain. At first, New Spain felt relieved that he had been released.   
  
But, then another feeling replaced it. It was a childish worry. Spain was upset and he only going to be quiet for a moment. His rage always simmered first.   
  
He felt tears of fear welling up in his eyes, and he said, “Tony, I’m sorry.” He was certain that the tears only came from the alcohol, but they came anyway.   
  
Spain turned his body back towards him, and seemed to soften. He sighed again and extended his arms, “I will forgive you if you lay here with me.”   
  
New Spain nodded in agreement and laid in Spain’s arms. He laid there trying to understand what had just happened as Spain snuggled closer and fell asleep.  
  
————————————-  
  
 **Mid 18th Century  
**  
Spain finished his work and took a step away from his desk towards the door that led to the garden. Perhaps taking a walk through the flowers and statues would calm him.   
But, His mind was fixed on the letter he had read that morning. His dear New Spain was safe from England, who had plucked him from the sea like the pirate he was and demanded a ransom.  
  
There had never been any question of paying the ransom, and he had sent a captain with the money and the instruction to bring New Spain home as soon as he could. Spain had received a letter from the docks that the captain had returned with his precious cargo.  
  
Spain felt so anxious to see his colony again, and the absence made him imagine the kind of brutality England had put New Spain through. Had the poor boy tried to fight back out of loyalty? If he had, then there was no telling how England reacted.  
  
He imagined the bruises on his colony’s skin, and felt rage in his veins. If England had hurt him, then he would pay for it. He didn’t even dare think of what that Protestant lecher might do alone with a beautiful boy. The thought made him feel ill.   
  
Spain felt painfully alone without his colony, and looking out on the garden was not doing him much good; the anxiety did not change. The only thing that made him feel better was the sight of a carriage through the bushes, racing up the path to the front of the palace. The vehicle was carrying his colony back to him.   
  
He turned away from the window and waited impatiently for New Spain to come into the room. There were a few silent minutes that made Spain feel needlessly antsy. He was already imagining the state that New Spain might be in.  
  
Then, the door opened and the familiar young man walked through it. He looked, much to Spain’s relief, relatively undamaged. His hair was longer than it should be, but that could be easily fixed.   
  
Spain took several quick steps and then pulled New Spain into a hug. There was a soft gasp from the boy, like he might not have expected it. But, Spain couldn’t have endured any conversation without touching New Spain. He needed this contact first, and then words would come.  
  
He could gladly have buried his face in the boy’s dark hair and enjoyed the tactile reminder that New Spain was safely home. But, he knew he owed some explanation.   
  
As he put one hand firmly in New Spain’s hair, he said, “I was so worried about you.” He felt New Spain slowly return the hug. Spain feared that the slight hesitation came from some abuse, since he was usually not so sedate in his affections, despite his usual shyness.  
  
New Spain said, “I am not hurt.”   
Spain didn’t believe the words, because he was certain that New Spain was trying to spare his worry. He leaned back and took his colony’s face gently between his hands. Spain said, “Let me look at you.”   
  
He turned the boy’s handsome face slightly between his hands, searching for any sign that he had been hurt. There were no marks as far as he could tell, and that let him finally breath a sign of relief. It seemed that New Spain had been honest.   
  
Spain said, “I am so glad that you are home. You have no idea how much I have missed you.”   
  
Overcome with the affection that had been bubbling up, Spain pressed his lips against New Spain’s. The taste of him was so familiar, and so welcome. Spain felt like he would gladly cover the young man in tender kisses, but he knew he should give New Spain a moment to speak. The experience had undoubtedly shaken him, since Spain had promised to protect him. The last thing Spain wanted was for this experience to damage New Spain’s trust in him.  
  
He pulled back but kept his hands firmly on New Spain’s face. The young man finally spoke, with a confused look in his eyes, “Aren’t you angry with me?”   
  
He looked like he had genuinely expected it, and Spain could not imagine why. He stroked the boy’s black hair back over his ear, and said, “Why would I be mad at you, dear?”   
  
The boy bit his lower lip and the expression made Spain want to take him in his arms and kiss him until he was breathless. Slowly, New Spain responded, “I was alone with your enemy.”   
  
Spain put a finger to his lips to silence him before he said more. His loyalty was so pure that it was touching, though his worry was misplaced. But, Spain wanted him to be free of any guilt.He had always made a point to keep New Spain as harmless as a lamb just in case he one day got some silly idea of autonomy in his head. Spain didn’t regret it, except that it had given the boy no chance to fight off England.  
  
He said softly, “You were kidnapped by a pirate. Do not blame yourself. It was my mistake and I am sorry for not doing enough to protect you.” The words came out on a swell of guilt. He had never meant to leave New Spain so unguarded that he could be vulnerable to an attack like this. It was lucky that he had not been hurt. He could only imagine how scared his poor colony had been.  
  
Then, a terrible thought occurred to him. Had New Spain done something to cause this guilt. He brushed back another piece of hair and said, “You did not tell him anything about me, did you?”   
  
He looked the boy straight in the eyes and waited to see any hint of deception in their beautiful depths. He would know if something was unsaid. New Spain had never succeeded in lying to him, even if the occasions where he tried occurred so very rarely.  
  
But, there wasn’t any dishonesty as New Spain shook his head and said, “Of course I didn’t. He tried to persuade me to, but I would never do that.”  
  
Something of his usual wit was coming back into his voice now that he was realizing he was home safe and in no trouble. But the loyalty was even better; he spoke with such certainty that he would never be a traitor.  
  
Spain felt himself overcome with deep affection. He pressed his lips again New Spain’s again, this time even more deeply. New Spain surrendered in his arms, just as he should. Oh, Spain had missed this feeling.  
  
As he pulled away, he said, “You’re a good boy.”   
  
New Spain flashed his self-satisfied smile that was so infinitely charming. Spain wanted nothing more than to spend the night and as many days as he could with New Spain, making sure he knew what it meant to be home, and nothing was going to stop him from doing exactly that.   
  
He said, running his thumb along the boy’s cheek, “How does a hot bath sound to you?” There was no way that New Spain would refuse; he had always had a certain affinity for warm water. For his own comfort, Spain wanted every trace of England cleaned off of his colony’s beautiful skin.   
  
A smile came to New Spain’s face and he said, “You know just what I want, Tony.” Spain ran his hand through New Spain’s dark hair one more time, speaking as he did, “First a bath, then we will have a proper meal.”   
  
He gave New Spain one last light kiss on the forehead before putting his arm around his waist and leading him in the direction of his chambers, where all the amenities of home were waiting.  
  
———————————  
  
 **Late 18th Century  
**  
New Spain was walking through the crowd with Spain holding firmly onto his arm. Every so often he would lean over and quietly tell New Spain who all the dignitaries were as they passed him. There were enough leers from the various men that he felt like he had to cling to Spain for protection. For all his other faults, Spain was at least protective.   
  
New Spain knew that it would be necessary for an empire to have several conversations before retiring for the night, and he could not leave Spain’s side. So, he expected to have to listen to political conversations that he had to pretend not to be interested in.  
  
They turned, and Spain paused for a moment. A momentary look of anger passed over his face. Then, he tugged New Spain firmly the other direction. He hissed, “Francis is that direction. We are going the other way.”   
  
New Spain was tempted to try to see what the man who so worried about. He only got a quick glance at a handsome, well-dressed blonde before he was pulled away.   
  
He decided to take a risk and said, “Why can’t we talk to Francis?” He was intrigued by someone who Spain wouldn’t even allow him to talk to.  
  
But, the response he got was a tightening of the hand on his arm. He winced at the painful contact. Spain said, his voice taking on the harsh tone that it always did when he was furious, “Because I said that you could not.”   
  
New Spain thought that would be the end of the conversation, as it often was when Spain was that sharp. But, Spain continued with mounting intensity, “Francis is a pervert who likes to take pretty things that don’t belong to him.”   
  
New Spain found it a bit ironic that Spain felt at liberty to comment on another man’s sexual appetites, but he knew better than to voice the idea. It was risky already to say something.   
Spain said, his voice now a growl, “And you are a pretty thing. I don’t want him lusting after you.”   
  
New Spain opened his mouth, attempting to say something flattering to defuse the situation. But, before he could speak, Spain stopped and drew him face to face with him. There was dangerous anger in his eyes, and it was enough to cause the words to die in New Spain’s throat.   
  
Spain put his free hand on New Spain face. He pulled the younger man close and said, “You’re mine. You hear me?”   
  
New Spain knew the best course of action was to nod slowly and soothe Spain’s temper. Spain leaned in even closer and said in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, “I could make that clear right here. I could kiss you for everyone to see. Do you want that?”   
  
New Spain felt a shot of fear that left him feeling cold. He knew it was a serious threat, and that it would be so humiliating if Spain made good on it. He said, “No. I’m sorry, Tony.”   
  
To his dismay, the anger in those green eyes didn’t seem to dissipate.   
  
Then a voice said, “Is there a problem here?” Spain turned on his heel and came face to face with his brother, who was doing a poor job hiding his anger.   
  
Portugal repeated, “Is there a problem?” New Spain could not have been more relieved to see the man. It felt like he had appeared at the right moment.  
  
New Spain let out a relieved breath once Spain could no longer see him. Spain answered, “I’m just chastising my colony. It is not your concern.”   
Portugal said, not backing down, “It is my concern if you do it in public.”  
  
New Spain could see the way that Spain bristled at being confronted. Spain snapped back, “Do you need something?”  
  
Portugal glanced quickly at New Spain, his eyes seeming to ask if he was alright. New Spain wished he could answer, but he hoped his look was enough thanks. Then he answered, “Arthur wants to speak to you.”   
  
Spain sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”  
  
———————————-  
 **1937**

Mexico cleared away the dishes from dinner and took them to the kitchen. Spain was still having trouble walking with his injuries, and he was not going to force him to take care of the mess by himself.  
  
As he got up and picked up the plates, Spain said, looking up at him “Could you bring a bottle of wine from the kitchen? I want a drink.”   
  
Mexico glanced at him and considered turning him down. But, there was no reason to refuse. He returned from the kitchen with a bottle and two glasses. He was not going to let Spain drink alone, and he could use a couple glasses of wine to help his patience with Spain.   
  
He placed one glass in front of Spain and poured a small amount of wine, and then poured one for himself. Then, with a sigh, he settled into the other chair. Coming to Spain’s aid had been more exhausting than he had thought. But, he had chosen to commit to it and was going to stay until Spain could take care of himself.   
  
Spain took a drink of the wine and held it in his mouth for a moment as if he was savoring it. Mexico waited with slight annoyance as Spain stalled. He took a drink of his own glass of wine while he waited for Spain to start the conversation. Finally, Spain said, “Dinner was delicious. You are a very talented chef.”   
  
Mexico took another drink to attempt to figure out what to say to this. On one hand, he appreciated the compliment, but on the other, he felt like accepting anything from Spain would only give the man hope. He chose to say, “Thank you.”  
  
Spain smiled at him and Mexico fought the urge to say something sharp to wipe the look off his face. He had no right to look so happy after all that he had put Mexico through. A little aid did not mean they were about the reconcile.   
  
Mexico took another drink of his wine. This time he took a long drink, taking it as the opportunity to not respond to Spain.   
  
The other continued in a conversational tone, “When did you learn to cook like that? I never made you cook for yourself.”   
  
Mexico put down his glass and responded, not measuring his response first, “I have lived by myself for a century. I taught myself how to cook. I am capable of living without a staff.”   
  
While he was talking, he noticed that Spain picked up the bottle of wine and poured more into Mexico’s glass. He seemed to think that Mexico would not notice if he was distracted by conversation.  
  
Internally, Mexico sighed. He understood what Spain was doing. He had done the same during the colonial years when Mexico was too young and naive to realize how much he was drinking. Those years it had been easy for him to get drunk and end up falling into Spain’s bed. But, it had been decades since he could be so easily fooled.  
  
He ran his finger around the top of the wine glass and said, “You know, alcohol is interesting with the way we are. Humans destroy their bodies if they drink enough.”   
  
Spain was looking at him like he did not understand why Mexico was saying any of this. But, Mexico continued to talk, building to his point, “But, we just keep building up our tolerance the more we drink. Eventually, you find yourself most of the way through a bottle of mezcal and hardly feeling it.”   
  
A look of understanding dawned on Spain’s face as he realized what Mexico was saying. He said, seeming to struggle for words, “That means you are drinking too much.”   
  
Mexico let out a burst of laughter at the absurdity of it. Spain had given him wine so often when he was a colony, and now he felt the need to tell him what was too much. He said, “That is really rich coming from you.”  
  
Spain replied, “Why? I was your guardian.”  
  
Mexico leaned forward and fixed his gaze on Spain. He said, clearly articulating every word, “You are the reason I drink so much. You spent two centuries getting me drunk so I would let you grope me. Do you really think that your behavior didn’t leave a mark?”  
  
Spain looked at him with an expression of complete shock. Mexico continued, “Don’t you dare criticize the things I do to live with the shit you put me through.”  
  
Spain momentarily withered under his gaze and said quietly, “I am sorry Ale.” Mexico replied with the most biting tone he could muster, “Not sorry enough to change.”  
  
————————————  
  
 **2010  
**  
Mexico looked at the pile of packages in his front room and tried to decide which of them to open first. This always happened on his birthday. People felt the need to send him gifts, even if it was just meant to woo him. He had already asked for them to be left here over the past few days, so that he could spend the morning going through them.   
  
He had enough planned for the next few days, and this felt like something of an obligation to go through the presents. He planned to set aside the ones that were the most important to him, those that came from his friends. He would open the ones from acquaintances first, and then tackle those that would be more emotional.  
  
He did not expect anything from his brothers, and he would be pleasantly surprised if they did send something. Maybe they would break their pattern because this was a special birthday for him.   
  
It had been two hundred years since he had left his life as a colony. Two hundred years ago he had heard the call to arms from Hidalgo.  
  
In some ways, he felt like he was worlds away from the boy he had been then. He could almost find some pity in his heart for that child who was freshly eighteen and believed that he was ready to take on an empire and that he was able to shape his own future. It was a naive dream.   
  
The last two hundred years had not been easy, and it had certainly not been what he imagined. But, he had survived and he felt stronger than he had been in years. It finally felt like his life was firmly in his own hands. That, at least, was something that was worth celebrating.   
  
Not every birthday had felt like a good one, but this felt like a good moment to celebrate all that he had survived. He was aware of how much he had fought through to reach this point.  
He settled himself on the floor in front of the pile of presents, and intended to start looking through them. Before he could start opening boxes, one of his dogs came trotting over and sat in his lap. He kissed the chihuahua on the head and said softly, “Not right now, my dear.”   
  
He wished that he had remembered to bring treats since his dogs would surely take advantage of the available lap. He picked up the dog and placed him gently to the side, which earned him a little disapproving look.   
  
Before starting, he took his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. Spain had not called yet, which was unusual. It had become a tradition since the interwar years that Spain would call him on the morning of the birthday.   
  
Perhaps the reminder that it had been two hundred years since the empire had been hard for him to stomach. Whatever the reason, Spain had missed his usual time.   
  
He reached into the pile of presents and pulled out the first box that his hand fell upon. The first box was delicately wrapped in tasteful wrapping paper, and he could smell the cologne still clinging to it. He didn’t even need to look at the tag to guess that this must be from France.  
  
He set it to one side.   
  
The next one was neatly wrapped, but plain. He checked the tag and saw that it was from Guatemala. Mexico supposed that Guatemala was the only brother he would expect something from. He placed that in a different pile that he reserved for friends and family. His relationship with France did not rise to that honor.   
  
He continued to sort all of the presents. The present from America came in the largest box, and Mexico found himself completely unsurprised. But, he would not open that one until later. America liked to see his reaction to his gifts, and he would be disappointed if Mexico opened it without him there.  
  
Once he moved that present to the side, it revealed another box that seemed to be the first one that arrived. He picked it up and checked the tag. It was from Spain, and the tag said, “Call me once you open this.”   
  
That intrigued him. Spain must have thought that whatever he had sent would be impactful enough that Mexico would want to talk to him about it. The presumption seemed perfectly normal to him. Spain usually thought very highly of himself, and would certainly think that his gift was important. But, it was still a break from his usual ritual for his birthdays.   
  
Mexico checked the time on his phone, and calculated the time that it must be for Spain. It was still a reasonable hour for him, so it would be best to open his gift now. I not, he would risk calling him late at night, and he had decided long ago to keep his contact with Spain within business hours. Calling at night would give him the wrong idea.  
  
Mexico braced himself for whatever special gift Spain had given him. He untied the ribbon and pulled off the paper.   
  
He felt a strange anxiety as he laid his hand on top of the box. Spain was rarely this mysterious, and it made Mexico feel very oddly about this gift. He looked at the size of the box, and tried to guess what it could be.   
  
The box was large and flat, which varied from Spain’s usual tendency to gift him books. But, he reminded himself that it would be reasonable for Spain to assume that this was a special birthday and he had to give more.   
  
But, he could not think of what might be in the box, so he decided to open it and end the mystery.   
  
He took a deep breath and pulled off the top. The first thing he saw was a book sitting on top of padding that seemed to be covering something much bigger. This, at least, was usual. It was an old leather bound book, and it appeared to be carelessly used by its previous owner.   
  
Mexico picked it up and looked at the spine. It was a copy of Don Quixote. Mexico wasn’t certain why Spain had sent him another copy of this book, when he already had many copies of different vintages.  
  
He opened it and flipped through the pages, hoping that the answer would appear to him. The first few chapters gave him nothing. But, as he continued, he noticed the notes in the margins, which he stopped to read.   
  
They were notes about the meaning of words in a mix of Spanish and Nahuatl. The handwriting was familiar, even though it took him a moment to place. It was his own, but messier and more childish.   
  
Slowly, it dawned upon him that this book must be the copy that he had used to learn Spanish in his early teen years. The careless owner had been himself as a young man in love with books, but not as responsible as he should be.  
  
It felt like a piece of his youth that he could hold in his hands. He was struck by how strangely thoughtful it was for Spain to have given him this when it was doubtlessly such a precious piece of the imperial years.   
  
He placed the book carefully aside, and vowed to find a place for it on one of his shelves. He was going to treat it with greater respect than his child self had. Now that it was such an old book, it would be more fragile than when he was younger.   
  
He patted the book one more time, and then turned his attention back to the box. He could see that there was something much larger in the box, and he was going to find out what it was. If it was anything like the first part of the gift, his feeling of unease and trepidation would be unwarranted.   
  
He slowly pulled off the first layer of packing paper, half expecting to see whatever it was beneath it. But, all that he saw was another layer of packing material. He pulled that aside, and drew in a breath through his teeth as he saw the unmistakable green of quetzal feathers.   
  
His hands started to shake as he removed the rest and revealed a headdress. The colors were still so vibrant, from the green of the feathers to the red worked into the band.   
  
He felt a burning in the corners of his eyes. He knew what this was. It was so clear in the memory of a little boy who had been weak and scared for his life.   
  
The last time that he had seen his mother she had been wearing this headdress. It had been a part of what she wore that day. His memory of his last minutes with her were so clear that he did not doubt what this was.   
  
He put one shaking finger to the feathers, and slowly touched it. He could still hardly believe that this was real and sitting in front of him. But the feeling of the soft feather under his finger made it feel real.   
  
Spain had sent him a part of his mother’s regalia as a gift. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He used the back of his hand to wipe away the tear. It had been five hundred years since the conquest, and the memory of his mother still brought him to tears.   
  
Mexico drew in a deep breath, and the feelings began to fade from sadness to anger. His mother’s possessions were not Spain’s to give back like they were some gift to him.   
This would have been his inheritance if his mother had lived. She would have had this remade for his head one day.   
  
He slowly felt the rage creeping in. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled until he found Spain’s number. He took a deep, angry breath and then pushed the call button. He listened to the sound of the dial tone and then the rings.   
  
As he waited, he scripted the words that he was going to say to Spain. He stood up so that he would have room to move, since he knew he would pace out of anger. Spain must have been waiting by the phone, because he picked up within two rings. He said, “Alejandro! I trust that you have opened your gifts?”  
  
Mexico took one more deep breath to quiet his anger and then he said, “How dare you?”   
He expected Spain to feign ignorance, and was not surprised when the reply came, “What have I done? I thought you would like what I sent.”   
  
Mexico started walking to control his feelings. He said, laying it out as clearly as he could, “My mother’s headdress is not yours to give!”   
Spain said, too coolly for Mexico’s liking, “I am sorry if it has upset you. I thought it would mean more to you than it would to me.”   
  
Mexico snapped, making no effort to hold back, “And what was it to you? Was it just a trophy of the woman you murdered?”  
  
He waited for some good explanation, but knew that he would get none from Spain. The answer was, “I was young and I took it because I was selfish, and I wanted proof of my victory. You are her son and you should have it.”  
  
Mexico replied sharply, “Of course I should have it! Do you have the rest of it? Did you take everything off of her body? Was killing her and kidnapping me not enough depravity for you?”   
  
He could feel his own feet moving, carrying him across the room. It was better than using the anger to throw the phone, though he was tempted.  
  
Spain was being annoyingly patient. He said, “No. I only had that. I knew it wasn’t right to keep it once you were an adult, but there was not a good time to return it to you."  
  
Mexico let out a snort through his nose like an angry bull. He could feel dangerous pain in his veins. His dog was looking up at him with worry. He replied, “You could have returned it two hundred years ago.”   
  
There was another moment of silence before Spain said, “You wouldn't have accepted it from me then. I know you don't like it, but this was the right time. Will you let me explain?"   
  
Mexico bit his lower lip. He didn't want to hear it, but it would be worthwhile to know. He said, so bitterly that he could hear the anger in his own voice, “Fine. Say your piece.”   
  
There was more quiet that made Mexico feel antsy. He wanted the answer more quickly than this. Then, Spain said, “I did not know what to give you for two hundred years away from me. I knew the usual would not satisfy you. I decided that I would give you back the memories that I had been selfishly keeping.”  
  
Mexico found himself calming down slightly with the time. Spain’s intentions had not been bad, even if his move had been tactless. Spain sounded like he was choking up as he said, "I have missed you ever since you left. So, I kept some things, and now I am letting them go.”   
  
Mexico took one more deep breath and stopped pacing. He said, “Next time you remember something of my mother's, don't wait until my birthday to give it back.”   
  
He heard Spain sigh on the other side of the line, “Happy birthday, Ale. I wish you happiness in the years to come. You know I just want you to be happy.”  
  
Mexico hung up. He put his hand back on the feathers and said softly to himself, “Mama…”  
  
It was harder than he thought to look at his mother’s things, and to remember how long he had been without her. But, he was certain that she would have pride in who he had grown into.  
  
His phone started ringing again. He glanced at the screen, half expecting to see Spain's name again. Instead, it was Cuba's number. He answered it. Cuba said, “Happy birthday. Do you still want me to come over?”   
Mexico said, hardly thinking about his response, “Absolutely.”


	20. Texas

**17th Century  
**  
Texas had started at the letter for several solid minutes to try to process what it said. His brother was finally coming home and he would finally get to meet him. His mind flitted back to his mother telling him about how strong and noble his brother was. He had always been told that his brother was strong and good and his responsibility. Texas had to meet him and protect him, he had been told that since he was a young boy, and now he finally had the chance.   
  
He folded up the letter and placed it inside his jacket, directly next to his heart. His mind drifted back to all the days he had spent imagining his brother, the prince he had always been told about.   
  
He stood up and started walking around the room, seeing every bit of mess. He couldn’t have anything out of place or it might reflect badly on him. He straightened the books on the shelf and the papers on his desk. But that was not enough. He needed the entire house to be perfect. There was not a moment to spare, so he threw open the door and charged out.  
  
In the next room he found Guatemala who had a thick book on the floor in front of him. He was copying the maps out of it with careful precision. There was a smudge of ink on his forehead.  
  
Texas spoke as soon as he entered the room, “Mateo, our brother is coming. We need to get ready for him.” The younger smiled but said, “Can it wait until I am done? I am almost finished.”   
  
Texas shook his head. He could not wait to make all the preparation. He could not be any more excited, but that also came with a terrible anticipation. His brother would have high standards after being in the court, and they needed to impress him. He tried to sound commanding when he said, “I need you to go South and bring your brothers back. Our brother will want to meet all of his family.”   
  
Guatemala closed his book and ran one hand through his hair, leaving another black smudge on his forehead. He replied, “I will do that. I wonder what he will be like.” Texas replied immediately with the image of a man that had developed in his mind, “He is going to take care of all of us, like the head of a family should be. He going to be smart and kind. My mother always said he was a sweet prince who would be good to us if we supported him.”  
  
The other nodded, though he did not look entirely convinced. Texas did not expect him to be. He hadn’t been told so many times about his brother. Guatemala only said, “I hope you are right.” Then he picked up the book and left the room.  
  
Texas did not spare much thought on it. Instead, he turned and walked back into the hall. He had rooms to clean and he did not have time to waste. He thought about possibly buying new decorations, but that would be expensive and unnecessary. His heart swelled at the thought that somewhere on the ocean between him and Madrid, there was a ship carrying his big brother back to him. He smiled to himself; it was going to be beautiful to have a family again.


	21. Uruguay

**Modern Day  
**  
Romano made a huffing sound as his thumb flew across the screen of the phone. He seemed to be typing out yet another message to someone, as he had for the last couple minutes. The vibrating of the phone had pulled him away from a very pleasant   
  
It didn’t take much for Uruguay to be able to guess who was on the other end of the phone. It was never much of a mystery who would suddenly feel like talking when Uruguay had a quiet moment with Romano.  
  
He asked, hoping to distract his friend from the conversation, “Is that Spain?”   
  
Romano sighed let out a sharp breath through his nose and momentarily resembled an angry bull. Then he said, looking up at Uruguay, “Yes, it’s that bastard.”   
  
Uruguay met the other’s hazel eyes, and momentarily lost what he was going to say. He could so easily forget how stunning Romano’s eyes could be, but a single glance reminded him of it. Romano was so handsome, and it felt like a sin to let himself forget that.  
  
Then, he regained his thought, “You could just leave him on read. You don’t need this stress right now.”   
  
Privately, there was more he wanted to say. Romano seemed to oblige some of his boyfriend’s worse behavior because he thought himself lucky to have Spain. But, Uruguay couldn’t help but think it was the opposite. He had never met anyone who could captivate him the way that Romano could. He was full of a kind of infectious fire.  
  
Years of comparison to his sweet-tempered twin had made him blind to the beauty that was so clear to Uruguay. Spain was lucky to have him, luckier than he deserved to be.  
Uruguay wasn’t jealous, he swore to himself. But, he could already imagine how much better he would treat Romano if he had the chance.  
  
Romano threw his phone down on the table and Uruguay caught it before it skidded off the edge. The Italian said, “You are right. Fuck Antonio and his stupid questions.”  
  
Uruguay nodded approvingly as Romano looked down at his own empty cappuccino cup. He dipped his pinky finger into the foam and then brought it to his mouth. He sucked on the finger for a moment in an absent-minded way that made Uruguay warm under the collar.   
  
Romano said, “I want to do something fun.”  
  
Uruguay glanced down at his watch, and said, “We could get to the beach before it gets late. And we could get lunch along the way.”  
  
Romano smiled, and asked, “Italian food?”   
  
Uruguay nodded, “Of course, Lovi. Anything you want.”

\-------------------

**Modern Day**

Uruguay leaned back into the pillows on Romano’s bed, and said, “Thanks for letting me come over, Lovi. I know that Antonio doesn’t like me spending so much time with you.”

He added a few strong words of his private thoughts about what Spain thought. He could say exactly what he thought about Spain controlling who his boyfriend could be friends with, but he would not do it for Romano’s sake. He valued their friendship far too much to step out of line in that way. It was better to be close however he could and to live with the relationship between Spain and Romano.

But he thought it was wrong and controlling in so many ways. He could not tell if Spain knew that he had feelings for Romano that went beyond friendship, but the way that the man got so jealous when he was alone with Romano made it easy to guess.

Romano laid next to him, far enough away on the bed to not be implying anything other than friendship. He was texting someone casually, and Uruguay could not guess who. He assumed he had been invited over for a reason, but he had not dared to ask.

Romano said, “Who cares what that bastard thinks?”

He sounded angry, but in a way more resigned than usual. It was like he was saying it as a matter of fact. Uruguay replied, “Usually you do. You’re dating him.”

The other shook his head where it was laying. There was a charmingly mystifying smile on his lips, and Uruguay desperately wished he understood it. Romano finished his text and then laid his phone to the side. He turned his gaze to Uruguay and said, “But you’ve always thought that I deserve better, right?”

Once he was given the invitation, Uruguay felt like he could give an honest answer. He replied, “I do think so. He doesn’t treat you the way that he should.”

He felt a surge of affection for Romano and felt like he could be bolder. It felt like something was different, like Romano was not so willing to defend his relationship. It felt like he was allowed to say something. He added, “You deserve someone who doesn’t treat you like their second choice.”

He met the Italian’s eyes and hoped that he could see what was unsaid. Uruguay wanted to say that he could be that person, but he was sure that was a step too far. Instead he waited for an answer, and hoped that he was clear enough.

There was a light touch of a hand against his own, and it surprised him. He glanced down to see that Romano was running a finger along the back of his hand.

It made him blush furiously, and momentarily struggle to think of anything to say. It wasn’t the first time that they had touched. They were affectionate friends who kissed each other on the cheek when they saw each other. They had hugged and cuddled before, but the context of the conversation and the way that they were together in his room at night made it feel different. It brought blood to his cheeks.

He felt for a fleeting moment like something elicit was happening.

Romano met his eyes and said, “Do you like me?” Uruguay found his voice again enough to say, “Of course I do. You’re my friend.”

He felt like there was more to the question, but he didn’t dare to hope that there was. It was better to treat it like a question of friendship, so that he would not misinterpret what was happening. But, Romano smiled at him like he thought it was a cute answer. He then reiterated, “I know we’re friends. You’re one of my best friends. But that isn’t what I am asking. I am asking if you have feelings for me.”

He leaned closer as he asked the question, which make Uruguay blush even more furiously. Nothing could have prepared him for the question, especially when Romano was still in a relationship with Spain.

He struggled to find the words, though he had always wanted to say it. What finally escaped his lips was, “I…uh…I do. Lovi, why are you asking?”

The conversation was cut off by the sound of Romano’s phone notifying him of a text. Romano said, “Hold that thought. I am going to go get a coffee with Antonio.”

Uruguay felt distinctly like some sort of strange bait and switch. He had begun to wonder if Romano had invited him over for a secret liaison, but it did not seem that it was the case.

He swallowed the bitter disappointment and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Romano shook his head quickly and responded, “No, please stay here.”

He must have seen the look of confusion on the other’s face, and added, “I promise this will all make sense in a little while. Just trust me for now.”

He took Uruguay’s face softly between his hands and the sweet look in his eyes was enough to get Uruguay to nod.

He didn’t know what was happening, but he was willing to put trust in a man who he knew must mean well. Romano said, “Thank you. I will be right back. This shouldn’t take that long.” He then kissed Uruguay on the forehead before he left.

Romano arrived at the cafe a couple minutes early intentionally, so that he could order a coffee and two slices of cake before Spain even arrived. He was sitting at a table by the time that the Spaniard arrived.

Spain looked around and then managed to find his boyfriend, and he smiled like he was pleasantly surprised by this impromptu date. But Romano did not return the smile. He had a plan for the night, and he was sure that it would be a shock to Spain.

He didn’t stand as Spain approached, like he usually would. On any other day, he would have stood up and embraced his boyfriend. But, he refused to do so. That would be Spain’s first hint that things were not usual.

Spain gave him a quizzical look and sat down across the table from him. He said, “This is a sweet idea. It’s been too long since we had a casual date.”

He reached for one of the pieces of cake, but Romano moved it just outside of his reach. Romano said, “Let’s talk first.”

Spain looked at him questioningly, and then leaned back. He looked slightly angry, and for a moment heavily resembled a sulking child. Spain said, “You did say you wanted to talk in your text. What did you want to talk about?”

Romano took a drink of his coffee to make Spain wait, and then he answered, “I want to talk about you and your ex.” Spain sighed and said, “So this is just more of your jealousy? I thought it was clear that I am dating you.”

He was playing the part of the exasperated boyfriend well, but Romano felt profoundly distant from it. It was a good act, but he was sure that it was just meant to get him to drop the subject. Romano said, “You may be in a relationship with me, but you stare at him every chance you get. You think I don’t notice.”

Spain rolled his eyes like this was something he had expected and was ready to dismiss it. He was still leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. He responded, “With the way that Alejandro dresses, half of the world stares at him. You are judging me unfairly because I used to date him.”

Romano took another drink of coffee as he rehearsed the words he was going to say next carefully in his head. As he put the cup back down, he said, “And does half of the world send him raunchy text messages right after a date with their boyfriend?”

The color drained from Spain’s face as he realized what Romano had just said. He looked much less confident as he leaned forward and said, “What do you mean?”

His face betrayed that he already knew very well.

But, Romano answered him, “The last time we had a date, my phone ran out of battery in the middle. But, I needed to call Feli afterwards. I promised him that I would, and I never break my promises to him. So, I borrowed your phone.”

Spain’s look of dread became even more apparent as he listened. Romano gave him a moment to defend himself before he revealed what he found. But, the silence lapsed, and Spain failed to say anything.

Romano continued, “I didn’t look through anything. Your texts were the first thing that was open. You were texting him right after our date. They were very sexual texts too.”

He could see the angry way that Spain clenched his back teeth, and was glad that he had taken Mexico’s advice to confront him somewhere public. Mexico had said that Spain would be quick to anger if no one could see it, but his concern for his image would stop him in public.

Mexico had been surprisingly willing to help with this moment, more than Romano had ever expected after the years of open hostility between them. It seemed that he was not the kind of man to hold a grudge after all.

Romano had felt some guilt at looking at his boyfriend’s texts, since it seemed like a breach of trust. But, what he found had nullified any of the possible guilt.

They were blatantly sexual, and he could tell from the set of Spain’s jaw that he knew it too. Spain said, finally speaking, “You are overreacting. We don’t have to do this here.” Romano shook his head, “I’m not. You know what really surprised me? Alejandro never replies to you except to tell you to fuck off. After all these years that I’ve blamed him, I realized that he’s not asking for your attention. It’s rather pathetic.”

He paused again. It felt good to voice his revelation. He had realized days ago that he had laid the blame on the wrong person for years. Mexico had no interest in Spain, and it was clear when he read their interactions.

Romano still felt affection for Spain, but he clenched his fists and buried it. There was love to be had in the world, and he didn’t need to rely on someone who would rather proposition another man.

He leaned forward onto his elbows and said, “You’ve never been faithful. I thought you would eventually learn to let him go. But, you won’t. I can’t make you want me.” Spain’s hands clenched into fists onto the table, and he said in an angry hiss, “Are you trying to leave me?”

Romano let out a long breath he had been holding, glad that his point had come across. He was almost relived to be able to say, “I am leaving you. You’re a liar and a cheater, and I don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

The words came out slightly less confident than when he had practiced them in front of the mirror, but they still seemed to work.

Spain’s eyes were full of repressed rage as he said, “You leaving me? That’s laughable. Who is going to take you if not me? You’re disagreeable and difficult. I’ve always told you it is not attractive. Who do you think you are leaving me for?”

The words stung, because Romano knew that he would never be sweet like his twin. But, Mexico had told him that this would happen too. He said that Spain would use whatever insecurity he could to get to him. Had they not been surounded by people, he was almost certain that Spain would have slapped him.

He stood his ground and responded, “It does not matter. Being alone is better than trying to measure up to Alejandro in your eyes.”

It was a white lie, because he knew who he was returning to when he went back to his hotel room. He knew he had someone who was willing to wait, and who had been patient through his years of denial about Spain.

But, he wanted to keep Uruguay safe from Spain’s rage. He was certain that there would be rage and jealousy at being rejected, and it was better if that was only directed at him.

Spain’s lips were pale and set in a grimace as he said, “You’ll come back when you get tired of being alone. I know that you will.”

Romano drained the last drops of the coffee and replied, “I never realized what a narcissist you are. Go pine for your Aztec prince. You’ll get nothing else from me.”

Uruguay was staring at the ceiling contemplating whether he should leave, since it had been a while since Romano left. But the promise felt binding, and he trusted that it would not be that much longer.

Then he heard the sound of the door opening, and Romano appeared with two small pastry boxes. Uruguay sat up and said, “I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t come back.”

Romano closed the door and then locked it and said, “Thanks for waiting. I knew that you would.”

He walked to the bed and sat next to Uruguay and wordlessly handed him one of the boxes. Intrigued, Uruguay opened it to find a slice of untouched cake. He guessed that the other box contained the same.

He said, as he picked up the fork and cut a bite of cake, “I would have thought you would have had dessert with your boyfriend instead of me.” He put the bite in his mouth, and it was delicious. Romano said, almost casually, “Ex-boyfriend.”

Uruguay gasped and immediately choked on the cake that had been in his mouth as he did so. Between sputtering coughs he said, “What? Tony broke up with you?” Romano shook his head and corrected, “I broke up with him. I realized that you've always been right.”

His eyes still watering, Uruguay said, “I’m really proud of you.”

Romano laid one hand on the other’s knee and added, “And I know there is someone who really loves me.”

Uruguay was sure that his whole face turned bright red. He had always said that when the chance came he was going to be suave like his older brother. But he found himself floundering and trying to come up with something to say.

Romano smiled and said, “Matias, would you date me?” Uruguay was sure what to say to this question and immediately replied, “Yes Lovi, I will.”

The Italian leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. Uruguay was sure he must feel like he was on fire under the hand on his face. He kissed back tenderly, feeling like he was half-dreaming.

Romano spoke as he pulled away, “Can you stay with me tonight. I don’t want to be alone. Alejandro said Tony will probably try to get me to change my mind, and I would rather not be alone.”

Uruguay nodded enthusiastically, “I would be glad to.” Then, to emphasize the statement, he kissed Romano again.


End file.
